I've always maintained my ignorance. It is my very strength and it will serve its intended purpose as my weapon for success. Twain would have been so proud. He would have walked towards me in my victory party and left me his regards, probably a lifelong advice of more ignorance. His path is now my path. His words are now mine. Every literal translation buried deep into conscious, possibly forgotten even before utility. All I need is confidence. The will to keep my knees on its toes and let perfection slip the moment for once, que sera sera.
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.