Listless.

This sorrow, this grief, is too much. Should I have known? You could have told me anything then. I might have been hurt, but nothing can compare to this ignorance I live in.

And Her... I am not the sole focus of her cynicism and ridicule. There is comfort in numbers, I suppose:

- People will always find you beautiful and want to sleep with you. But what is it like to be you? There's an emptiness that I have sensed. Not enough to make you poetic or tragic... just enough to make you sound hollow and insincere. You have always made me uncomfortable. You reek of death sometimes and I step back from you. You are not good for me. I think I may have escaped from your poisonous words forever. Forgive me if I do not say goodbye. -