Sometimes I can't stop wondering what hurts more: our words or our silences. We stand paralyzed, expressionless faces mask soundless screams as we watch the chasm growing between us. Fragments of an envisioned future scattered on the floor- has all hope of communication been lost?

An ashen cloud covers the city; flames lit the battles raging inside us. Agoraphobic souls in a state of emergency. Shall I give up on you before the dream has had a chance to materialize, should I go back to what i know and feel safe around?

After all the great wars, our armour is filled with holes, yet the iron has become one with our skin. Every time you remove a blood-soaked piece, i sink helplessly into a sea of agony and expectation.

A cynic that falls in love is like a walking paradox. A pessimist, who begins to paint the future in bright colours, has probably lost all touch with a once solid reality. At night, cicadas struggle to cover the noise of passing cars. This city's inhabitants have long given up
on sleep.

Did you think I was gone for good- and did it matter to you? For a while, I assumed I had nothing more to say, yet it seems I've been granted another fleeting promise of inspiration. A lot has changed, though I'm still haunted by innumerable ghosts. Would you care to be my imaginary audience once again?

The past few weeks have been so unexpectedly wonderful, it was hard to sustain my faith in the futility of life. Unable to find a reason for despair, I was inclined to mourn for the transient nature of desire, but all my attempts were spoiled by the stubborn and totally ungrounded belief that even better times lie ahead.