There's a hole in my mind shaped just like your shadow. Eyes half closed in an expression of bewilderment- or is it boredom? Did I ever truly listen to you, I wonder; did I ever see you, or was it merely the projection of my own sense of lack painting the promise of a miracle upon your forehead?

What was it that made me feel this way about you, and could it happen again? I always speak of freedom, and yet, I do not really wish to die alone. The process of sharing could soften our hard shells and make us more human than we can ever hope to become by wrapping our dreams in solitude and ideological cellophane- if only we didn't turn it into an ordeal, with our rules and cheap lies and hidden expectations.

What is the source of this atavistic fear, and will we ever be able to overcome it? When the sun shines, we find no time for poetry- is sorrow truly more precious than joy? Repeat your questions like a mantra, until you find the answers you're seeking or until your ears become accustomed to the constant murmur of existential agony.

Abolish certainty- or let us out of this futile struggle, before we wither and die. Doubt's restless spirit has stained your skin, it has spread its roots inside the deepest core of your being, which may or may not explain why your own thoughts seem to rebel against you.

How can love be freed of all rules when our lives crumble under governing principles? I've spent too much time on the surface- would you dare to leave security's ship behind, would you dare to take a plunge and explore the serpentine depths of desire?

So you've found something new, but you still can't let go of the old. Hold my hand, I'm tired of taking, please help me learn how to give again. Bodies made of wax, minds made of steel and fire.

Your multiplicity of faces is driving me mad. We long for freedom, yet we can't stand being alone- such is the fate of a sad, strange species called human.

From Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail:

"Objective Journalism is hard to come by these days. We all yearn for it, but who can point the way?...Don't bother to look for it here- not under any byline of mine; or anyone else I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms."

Athens is a different place in the summer...or perhaps we become different people. Work is a mess, but never more chaotic than our daily social interactions. Transform dull office hours into something almost tolerable by taking short, sunny coffee-breaks in the park. Wash all kinds of pressure away by diving into the sea every weekend. Dream of untamable passion, even when none is around.

Sometimes I think of you, sometimes I don't, sometimes I'm content simply to share intimate silences with strangers. If you were here, I'd take you for a walk inside the city's twisted labyrinths. I wouldn't hold your hand- keeping it casual. At night we'd tear our darkest thoughts apart. Now that you've become merely the vision of a lonely winter evening, I dare to look your shadow in the eye, and it stares back into my soul.

No one wants to die alone and yet, could death be any lonelier than our lives, the way we drag them around tied to the masts of inexpressible sorrows? Could it be any lonelier than these desperate calls for help, echoing behind our smiling faces? Could it be any lonelier than love, as we carelessly light wild fires in the virgin forests of innocence?

Last night, I said it all in one drunken monologue, then I remembered why I'm only drawn to the people who suffer in solitude. I went to bed at dawn, feeling exhausted yet unsatisfied, a voice in my head screaming for more- more laughter, more pain, more poetry, more violence, more creeping paranoia and midnight summer walks and dreams of absolution.

We shall not spend our nights crouching behind defensive walls, we shall not waste our days following orders; although we no longer believe in unity, compassion or forgiveness, we were not made to sail those stomry seas alone.