Somewhere along the lines towards the abyss, awaiting a stopover is the resignation. The colours of your clothes and the moods you undergo take on a larger scale in variety. My days still themselves with prideful steadiness and reminders of a better today than a yesterday, yet contentment seems to be a troubled friend.

My words are escaping by me. I am nearly incoherent but am still busy catching muse that still subsists with the woman I have become. Time doesn't recover youth as youth doesn't recover with time; no more time shall be crashed and burned in the excuse of jadedness. Forces of uncontrollable nature let happen, all in good time and good reason. Reasons have limits, but when do I admit to my bursting point? If selfishness was indeed what molded the frame that lives of me this day, pain wouldn't dominate it has been and regret would be family. There is nothing that deserves my regret in this designated familiar scene. Regret is an awful word and I clasp my palms together to think less of it to be able to stop mentioning it.

New faces familiarize themselves within my head but it's a long journey being of friendly comfort towards the heart. My map of indites seem to be disintegrated into repetition of slurs that does not piece up any part of the puzzle.

Tonight, I will rest upon my bed and end my night not being mad at you. Anger has introduced a new wave of fatigue that perpetually bubbles within and it is time to jerk it to a permanent halt. I will cease the blaming and take it upon indifference and alas, indifference will be my last standing emotion felt towards you. Someday, recollections of these moments of reluctance and dilemma would all just draw a picture of a bad dream that lasted while it did.

You have been my pinch of salt. Regardless of what harm you have done than good by choice and intention, thank you for the good days and the memories. The collective term "us" has reduced to an individualistic label of you or me, and I don't do regret. Take care, one I loved once ever dearly.