Im' sorry I disappointed you- it wasn't intentional, if that makes any difference. The truth is, I let myself down every day. Am I confident in my decision? Barely. Ever since that bittersweet Sunday, my dreams seem to be trapped in the silky spiderweb of guilt. 

If the path has been chosen, why is my mind still floating somewhere in between? Maybe I lost you for good this time, and maybe it's all for the best- you've been released. Will I find the strength to whisper your name again, will I find the courage to dial your number or look at you in the eye? I doubt it.

Maybe he was right- loneliness cannot be divided in two. And what was she to do, she who had spent half her youth chasing illusions? The dream is sinking. Stay afloat. Stay afloat.

Poison. Runs slowly through our veins instead of blood. It's freezing cold in here, even when the sun shines. I'd ask you to lie next to me, if only you hadn't fled ages ago, leaving me with nothing but a broken shell and a sack full of memories.

When our roads have parted, I shall weep for the broken promises, I shall miss all the small and bigger things we used to share, but not the entity you call yourself - for how can anyone ever miss an absence?

Am I repeating the same sentences, again and again? It used to be easy, keeping our heads hidden in the clouds. And now, I fear the irreversible process of disentachment has already began. How can you tell when it's time to let go for good? How do you know if there's a sparkle still burning under this pile of ash?

Struggling to focus on something different, a tranquil image that will release my mind and soul. But there's always a you threatening to undermine the constructed self-sufficiency of the fleeting being I like to call myself. Uncertainty reigns. Long gone are the days when we almost knew what our hearts desired. 

So what if you decide to walk away, leaving everything behind you in ruins? The earth will keep turning; your face in the mirror will continue to age; the chains of gravity will always tie us down. How many times can we start anew, how many times can we wipe the past away and pretend we're still young and eager and filled with hope?

Dear Stranger,

Forgive me, I didn't mean to be rude. Let's just say I was paralyzed by the realization that we inhabit a rather cruel world- the fact that it's unintentionally cruel makes it even more unbearable. Strangers become friends and friends mutate into strangers. Do I believe in chance? I guess it depends on the context.

What lies behind the need to hide our identities? The fireworks of love fade out after a year or so- if you're lucky. Disillusionment follows; then what? Nothing is made to last in our precooked microwavable reality. The ever-present thirst for human contact remains unsatisfied.

Trust requires strength, and sometimes it's impossible to let the barriers down; sometimes it's simply a question of who will get hurt first. Still, there are no real winners or losers in this game, only painful scars and forsaken dreams and wasted moments.

There is no time for poetry on the path of self-deception. I don't think I expect you to return anymore. Who taught us to embrace sex as a means of communication? The future seems bright sometimes; then i delve deeper into the past.

Nostalgia has scarred our souls, so we dream of flying. Few things hurt more than the suspicion you might have nothing worthwhile left to say. Have you disappeared for good, or are you still listening? Your days are blessed with tenderness and warmth, yet you still manage to feel lonely.

There's a limit to what you should share as there's a limit to what you can keep hidden. I'm frightened that the spell will break. Do you still love the things you used to love, and do you ever miss me? Today I weep for the silences we'll never be able to fill.

Growing up the way I did, I learned not to trust many people. To protect myself from disappointments, I never expected much from others- or life in general. I got used to blocking the painful memories of rejection, betrayal and those innumerable uncomfortable moments.

As time went by, I constructed an impenetrable wall around me- you could call it selfishness, or even a kind of autistic withdrawal, if only it didn't hurt so much. All my life, I've been looking for the antidote, which only seems to come in the form of love.

I've searched for it in enchanted forests, foul-smelling caves and twisted labyrinths; I've followed paths that led nowhere; I've shared my deepest secrets with strangers; I've shed tears in front of indifferent statues.

And whenever I discovered something that truly resembled it, I soon got scared that I'd never be able to overcome the barriers, so I retreated into my shattered world. You see, I've let so many people down that it's way too hard to believe I might actually be worthy of affection...

I've sent many letters to many people, and here I am again, trying to carve my way back to innocence. Haven't I lost my right to beg for your attention? Let the night drag her velvet cloak upon me; after death, sleep is our only natural means to oblivion.

Why do I make the same mistakes every time? I'm haunted by the ghost of an incomplete past. Release me, don't you see I'm only trying to drag myself to the surface? I'm calling out for you, but my messages-in-bottles never reach your shore.

Forgive me, I'd say, if I deserved to be forgiven. Instead, I'll wear my mask of strength and push you away. Never meant to cause anyone harm and yet that's what I always seem to be doing- polluting all I've ever loved with arrogance and doubt.

From The Place of Dead Roads by William Burroughs:

"Time is a resource. Time runs out. The most basic problem facing any culture is the conservation and disbursement of time. Human time is measured in terms of human change. So the most flagrant time-wasting may minimize change and thus conserve time.

"The English dictum of never going too far in any direction is actually a time-saving expedient, ill advised to be sure when it may be necessary to go too far in all directions for a bare fighting chance of survival. Utopian concepts step from a basic misconception as to our mission here. So many snares and dead ends. Nietzsche said, "Men need play and danger. Civilization gives them work and safety".

"Some cultures cultivated danger for itself, not realizing that danger derives from conflicting purposes. Happiness is a by-product of function. Those who seek happiness for itself seek victory without war. This is the flaw in all utopias. A society, like the individuals who compose it, is an artifact designed for a purpose. As to what life may be worth when the purpose is gone..."

Does insecurity come before or after doubt? Can devotion be compatible with independence? How can two seperate "I's" merge into one all-encompassing "we"?

When frightened, you seek to reinforce your sense of individuality. "This is me, and I'm doing fine, albeit in a slightly inconsistent way", you whisper to yourself, again and again, making it sound like some kind of incomprehensible mantra.

"I'm whole, even though I tend to believe that my better half is out there somewhere. I've been in love with shadows and ghosts and strangers, and the occasional real person, too. Yes, it's mostly been a solitary journey, but not without its joys."

Then silence. We've watched our utopias dissolve into dust, one by one. If love is the only antidote to loneliness, where does freedom fit into the exchange, and does our happiness truly depend upon it?

What is the answer to the eternal question?
What might be the question, if the answer is no?
And what if our alibis coincide?

Like drugs, philosophy transports you to an artificial universe. There, amidst the hidden traps and dangerous creatures, a discerning traveler may find innumerable tools to make everyday life on Earth more meaningful, inspirational and tolerable.

Walk around in littered streets. Crowds caught in a pre-election frenzy. Give us a break, not another break down. The ship is sinking. Maybe I've lost you for good this time.

The inhabitants of Planet Chaos are debating the laws of gravity. Beware all audience-seeking strategies. There is only one method for exorcising loneliness: you will first have to sacrifice your impenetrable realm of melancholic serenity as a sign of goodwill.