There was something in the way, I guess it was me. There are no happy ends here, only the miserable mistakes of revulsion and revisionist lies. Clouded memories become different versions of events. Parting of the ways, the resignation of time. The bitter tendencies of all who remembered. Your jealousies became petty over time. Fostering resentments and half cooked ideas stolen from elsewhere. It's a fine way to waste your life, looking at your idols with rose-tinted glasses. I struggled with a lack of identity, you see. I don't really succumb to trivial pursuits anymore because the mind and body don't align with one another. Get out your miniscule violins and rip them to pieces. I live back in the network of the forgotten, life passes them by without a single thought. I don't know where I am to go next, I guess I rebuild myself into a dull man's corner. The dependancies of old are severed, you thought you could just slip away and everything would be alright but you...
The secret garden of despair.