Until the hour of separation reminds you that the angels were not half as happy in heaven as they were at the devils last dinner party, each moment vanishes unwillingly. Our eternity is as transparent as those broken glass houses you've been throwing stones at. I could eventually let you go, and I would suffer on. I've learned that you just can't make yourself matter and that the ruin we have made of each other wasn't for nothing. Tis better to have lied and lost than live with the staggering sum of all my false truths. We all know that when the truth looses it's temper whisper softly "not until we are lost do we truly begin to understand ourselves." So we cherish that reflection of our morbidly depressed selves as a keepsake to remind us later that we won the war. If you have learned nothing of your defeat you have yet to loose your way. I found out the hard way that true devotion seeks no answers and is without condition. This remission of sins will soften and purify my jaded heart. Meanwhile your filthy flesh will soak in a bathtub of desire, and I do hope it surrounds you.

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