Seemingly, I recall many a person having to blabber about things with regards to their current predicaments most especially on social networking sites such as Twitter and Facebook. A normal bloke would shrug off the slightest bit of information pertaining to a long, lost friend and his toilet habits. He just doesn't care about it, and yet the friend goes on and on and on like internet zombies waiting for a pandemic meltdown of computers, scratching their heads wondering to themselves why the future just seems so artificial and plastic. Never mind me for doing updates on my Facebook. It just, for me, is a silly habit of letting everyone know that I still am alive and they need not worry about me since nothing special really happens last time we met. Sephiroth perfectly summarizes what my intentions are by saying, "I will never be a memory," but I'd be damned to admit if I really did like Sephiroth even then and now. My inner nerd tells me I did at one point, but my repressive memories are blocking it all off thankfully. That guy just reeks crybaby.
Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.