"I could probably hate you quite easily, but I don't think I'll ever find you dull" said the note on the windowsill. Inspiration hides in cheap alibis and unfinished phrases. What does the wind know of desperation? Fallen pillars, a reconciliation of sorts.

If all the stars went out, would the world lose its memory? The flames of rage flirt with the ruins of desire. Repressed fantasies of serenity metamorphose into terrifying nightmares. Staying alive just to watch infinity bleed like lava from the gaping wounds of time.