Every morning I get a weird sensation of pain resonating out of my eyes, especially when my body feels it lacks sleep even though it doesn't. Eight hours is more than enough time for rest. This would be another day where Miriam is somewhat feeling more distant with me. As if the reason to move on from her would be the most backwards beneficial thing I could ever ask for myself even though part of me tells me I shouldn't. With or without her, of course, I will survive. But I like her. Truly, I do. The decision as usual lies upon her to decide for our fate. I will once again be in shambles, tattered even worse than ever before. The thought of going back to the streets was all too familiar. I would want to avoid such fate whenever necessary.
When life finally chooses that path for me in the future, I will be mentally prepared. But the state of my perpetual loathing will one day have to rid itself on its own. My isolation will be my penance, as it had always been, therefore, the sadness associated with leaving behind all that which I associate with her will be gone, including this barmy job I have caught hoping to build her a future with which we could build together hand-in-hand.