I thought I'd never see this end of the tunnel again. What good are you if you can't find the strength you once had. So the truth is Tyler, I'm not better because I have you. Or rather, had you. The truth is, everybody's the same. And trusting them usually only leads to stained beds. Of that you were right. I hate that we've grown apart. From each other and especially from who we were.

After roughly 600 days, I finally met her again. She looks different though, older and a little less of that cynical air about her. She's got a new secret that she won't tell me but I think she's found her contentment.

This societal obsession with keeping yourself updated on strangers' lives is repulsive. To what extent can you go. How far down can you plummet before the constant yearning for trivial bits and pieces can be gratified.

The transient moment of dissolving fragments. Does not happen often, but when it does, you almost want to cry.

The breaking hours after bleak moments are just as hollow. It's as if the night has no recollection of itself, and whether it is a reenactment of the night before, it does not tell. Almost surreal in its pain, but the residual emotions are almost too happy to stamp 'we were here'.

The once strong fortresses are now decrepit. The soldiers weakened by greed, envy and ingratitude. The monarchy driven by malice and contemptment for the poor. Even if it had conquered the world's continents, power would never be enough.

But you offer no sympathy for that.

He's terrified. They both are. Of different things. Of losing all hope. Of being confined. But how does one know when to stop seeking?

Wailing cats and cheating lovers.

How much of yourself can you get back in a night.

Well, he's persistent, I'll give him that. I could kill him. If I hadn't enough sense, I would have had it arranged.

It's an absolutely foul situation to be in. You're adamant that it's the truth he needs to accept. But you're questioning if it's really a substitute for 'an easy way out'. To be honest (really), I prefer the old ways and machinations that usually involved a non-committal party. It was more fun, to say the least.

It's been said that stability, order and routine thrills the nature of my being but so far, as of this very moment, it's boring the shit out of me. Nevertheless, with insensitivity and cold-hearted already plastered on your forehead, it's not hard to be tactless.

He is unusable. This is cold-heartedness. But this is also the truth.