4:02 p.m., 2004-11-18
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It has gotten to the point where this way is not the path that had been chosen before, yet needs to be completed nonetheless. They had not expected these changes, these very subtle changes, yet they drop as the rain drops in the coldest deserts and no one can stop them. All are dead inside and tired of the past. In the coming weeks, we'll be dreading and be dreaded, surely others will sense or hear of our brutal and sometimes true reputation and rumors. But we must push on, carry on the fight. Because this is not how things are meant to be, this chaotic stillness. We can only hope for the chaos to fight us, and for us to be in victory. The happiness and the outcome of our lives is thought about but not held high; thus be the way of the martyr. What do we fight for? Oh, we fight for everything that we hold dear, everything you never noticed but always had and would die without. Welcome are the insults and the judgements, and the flares that spark our passion. We, the collective warriors, know of cowardice and fright, the starving hearts and ignorant souls that we may very well possess. Seek not to request us, nor to trap us in your own meddled explanation, for you know not of our causes and loves. The sorrow is unique in each one of us. Trust is a matter of time, which is running rapidly out of our reach. Oh, precious beings who choose- can there be an awakening? A true and real bliss? For a sweet and brief second, I thought your answer may be yes. The happiness occurs between and during, so we can keep the passion. Unknown are the faceless others who hold the weight on the other side of our moon, who have involuntarily helped us prevent the inevitable doom. So all those who care and all those aware, cherish this time, as ugly as it may be, for the forthcoming is even more ghastly than it seems.
� � pr�c�dent ou apr�s
