Call me a sadist, but I think perfection can only last so long, and when it dissipates, it only becomes a burden one has to carry all his life.

The glance was no longer of love, it was brimmed with pity, with apologies.

Loveless, she surely was.

The scent of misery and absolute despair hung in the air, stagnant.

Maybe she'd forgotten how to breathe.

The walls surrounding her frail beating heart fell apart, her last line of defense.

The agony of the situation corroded into her mind.

The truth rendered her helpless, and ironically, relief.

"When I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead. True story." -Barney Stinson :)

I'm going to try writing until I can overcome the writer's block,

because I know no one is preventing me from thinking except myself.

There's a little voice within me that's struggling to speak, and it's my job to amplify them.