26 November 2008

Sensitivity is overrated.

she locks herself in the room, with nothing more to say and no one else to turn to. the perpetual Remorse just stands there within her chest, pounding and grinding and tearing her to bits. reaching out to the table top she picks up the dried petals that fell from the wilted roses. she holds them in her palms, feeling their texture. so insignificant. so fragile. sometimes she wonders if there is a chance; an answer at the end of the tunnel that would free us from the emotions that dwell deep within our souls. alas, even after her Will has strived, Life bore no reason left for her to fight.

sometimes, the only answer she finds standing is to tear herself away.