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So perceptive of people am I, that i now find myself unable to understand her at all… How things change. Why?

Another one of those nights. It’s no wonder most suicides happen at night.

A moment Dreamt. In a place, Not home. Of a time, Not now. In a life, Not mine. Yet.

Not based on event, more thought – If I should turn on my own word, against my own heart, and my own love….

Well it feels this way sometimes!

A summary of what once was, of where I was for the last year, and into now.

A return to rambling begins

He will get his story one day, but until then, Marcus can have his poem.

For the record