Why is it that we constantly long to find someone else to touch when we're lonely. Or that there seems to only be one person who can seem to help us to overcome that overwhelming weight in our chest with just a kind word. Even if we know it is entirely impossible and inappropriate, we hold onto the hope that maybe one day we can tell that person exactly what it is that we feel for them. Hoping that it's the same way they feel about us. The fear and relief of the confession, the way you heart beats and you don't know whether to smile or cry. No matter how many clues life gives you you can never be certain as to what exactly will happen, but when that love isn't two fold I wonder which is more painful. Being the one who has you heart broken, or the one who can't return that love.

I'm not the most noble person, but at the same time I'm not the shadow that I have tried to make myself to be. Nor am I the perfect son, student, teacher or friend; but no one truly is. I'm not a saint, I'm not a daemon, I'm a human and she has reminded me of that. It is a lesson that I'm not proud to have forgotten, since I've been reminded of it once before. But like any other human, perfect is something that I can never be; and there are things that I'll forget. The only hope in this life though is to live with the imperfections and make the most out of them that we can. Hoping that someone else will love us despite our flaws.

So humbled once again by a woman I care about deeply despite the fact she lives on the opposite side of the country, so for all those who have come to know the whisper of who I truly am. I am sorry, but I don’t think that I can say anything more than this, that I can make you see everything that lies just beyond the screen. But feel free to marvel at the sight as the pyre burns and who you thought I was turns to ash.

Let's continue rushing to ruin, and rising from the ashes.