It's another of those long, lonely nights. They tick-on, one after another. The epilogues of the steady succession of wasted, lonely days. The days haven't been the same since then - since the skies darkened and black, moonlit water rose.
They haven't been the same since then. They were never happy, but at least they could hold a good mood for a while... say a day. Since then, every day has been a struggle. A trudge through shit, blood and garbage. A long, lonely march through an empty land. The sun pops-out and then disappears as quickly as it broke through... usually quicker. There's not much left to say about the state of things; whether in this life or another. It's usually easier to say nothing.
Why do what you're not content to do? Why toil at a labor of pain and not at a labor of love? How can you relate to people when you simply cannot understand them? How do you tune-in when your frequency is different? How does a fox live in a lion's den? How do you face a world that you're petrified of? How do you get guided into something so against your nature... how do you get out?
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