When something ends before it begins, how can the cycle of misfortune be broken? An attempt to break the silence...and you end up saying too much. Two people staring at the waves, each of them locked in a separate cell. It could have been perfect, it could have been something new, but here we are, holding nothing but air in our arms. A fantasy almost realized, then silence. Back to the world of disillusionment and shattered ideals.

If only I could write about it. Write and write like I used to, create my own happy endings in my head. But there's no fire burning in this hearth of inspiration- just ashes and lukewarm coal. At night I wander in empty streets, begging for a sparkle; all I get is drops of autumn rain. Release me, I've been trapped in this world of perpetual self-doubt and unbearable discontentment too long now.

How am I ever going to fly if my wings are tied with strings of negativity? How can I love, if no one seems able to withstand the madness of my affection? Why do we always let our insecurities come between us?

Nonsense. I fear I'm little more than a frustrated narcissist, gradually and painfully coming to terms with the fact that uniqueness- or even real communication- is merely an illusion amidst this pandemonium of six billion hysterical voices, all screaming for attention.