You did not live my life, living helplessly each moment snowballing into years and decades reasserting the crack between the mind and the soul - having to see the wreckage of the bliss that you knew existed within you, one speck at a time.
-Sometimes tears seem so irrelevant. The cause too perverse. The soul drips with the tears I don't care to shed anymore.
-I am a cynic, an indifferent realist, I am all that you would care to define me as, for I have failed. I have failed my definition of myself.