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I'm sorry.
I won't retract my words because they remain valid of themselves but I will atone for them because they are not how I want this to end and not how I feel any more.
You will be missed, of course you will. I have known you for longer, and we have shared more of each other between ourselves, but it is because of this I feel I gain license to say such things as those I now no longer want to stand by.
I know you are on my side though. When the tables finally turned last night, you were on my side when I had not been on yours. And for this, I love you.

Realising how much you will be missed hit me like a punch to the stomach just now.
And I hope that when you realise how much I will be glad to be away from you, it makes you sit down and think about who you are.
And I think we could have been so much, if things had been different. You and I, you and I; we could have been so close.

And you.

You could have been it.

But now I don't know if I even remember who you are.

Forgive us not our trespasses, we're only betraying ourselves, kick us when we're down, and teach us how to become better people.
Let the moon make us howl, let the sun make us burn, we are the kind of people that give this town a bad name.
What happens in the streets follows us home into our beds, and all that's left in the morning is a whisper and a sense of dread.
Drive that wedge ever deeper with every weighted word.
Smash your hammers down and crack our weak foundations.
Fucking with this is the worst thing any of us could do right now.
But we've all got our reasons, and that's the reason we're falling apart.

Never burn a bridge until you've got off of it.
The ground beneath our feet is cracking, we're all to blame.

This doesn't feel like mine, I don't think it really ever could. You all talk of ghosts and call up phantoms, and I am quiet, and I laugh with everyone else because it's more awkward if I don't. I love you all, but this is temporary. This is temporary and sometimes this is a fact that makes me glad when I wish it didn't. You all have a head start and a history and right now I can't wait to get home.

It was an airport departure lounge in Portugal, and it was a pocketful of euros, which changed the life of a fourteen year old me. Checking in early coupled with an overestimation of airside facilities. Two hours with nothing to do except try and spend the last few notes and coins of the holiday.

A record shop, stocked with the typical exotic foreign sounds you'd expect to hear abroad, and the usual international stars, the kind that you can never escape no matter where you go in the world. The artwork on the sleeves held the colours of safety, of popularity; of nothing I felt.

I think it was the rack furthest on the left, and two sections down, where I found it though. The snake in the corner, barely visible. The pitch black which engulfed the case and even though effectively created a blank canvas, held an incredible power over my gaze. I turned over the record, and read the titles of the songs, and knew this was for me. The album was untitled, and it was by a band I'd never actually listened to, but had been told were something I'd like.

They were called Metallica.

An ambition, to be nothing you admire. How far can it go, this experiment that lingers behind the eyes? It must breach my skin, descend and push past gritted teeth.
Just a test, an exercise in depravity and self indulgence. Bridges will burn, and the trail will trace back to my burning hand.
Live the dream, of living in a waking nightmare. Indulge every thought, never say no, except to spite you.
Dedication, to fucking up the things you love just to see what will happen. I'm on a knife edge, and everyone is going to get cut.

Pick a place, pick an end, pick a coastline, you've found a reason to live, but taken a part of mine away.
Rely on love, to bring out the melodramatist in us all. Rely on love, to tear us apart. Rely on love, to engender our wildest dreams and endanger our reasoned thoughts. Rely on providence for nothing.

"... Anyway, back to my thudding personal blankness. It's probably a bonus. On the one hand, I... am essentially just a blinking, shuffling mannequin watching events in his life merely drift past like underwhelming prizes on the Generation Game conveyor belt. And on the other, I just don't give a shit. It's a win-win situation. Or it would be, if I had any concept of 'winning' in the first place...
And it's hard to see what the cure might be. If you've fallen out of love with life- not to the point of actually disliking it, you understand, but to such a degree that you merely tolerate rather than welcome each passing day- it's surely impossible to get the spark back."

"There are no more barriers to cross... I do not hope for a better world for anyone, I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing. "

"It is no surprise to me that hardly anyone tells the truth about how they feel. The smart ones keep themselves to themselves for good reason. Why would you want to tell anyone anything that's dear to you? Even when you like them and want nothing more than to be closer than close to them? It's so painful to be next to someone you feel strongly about and know you can't say the things you want to.
I must tell you that I was always afraid of the fury with which I loved you. It overwhelmed me. I thought it beyond comprehension, therefore my silence.
I will never say the things that I want to say to you. I know the damage it would do."

Brooker, Bateman (not Ellis) and Rollins. But where am I?

On a music message board.
Reading a thread about favourite album titles.
There is a post which reads "It's the Ones Who've Cracked That the Light Shines Through, by Jeffrey Lewis."

It's the Ones Who've Cracked That the Light Shines Through.

I may never hear the actual record, or even know who Jeffrey Lewis is, but what a fantastic thought.

Not all, but most of us, will grow old. And some of us will truly fall in love, some of us us will die alone, but maybe most of will settle for spending our lives with someone we merely tolerate more than anybody else.

And some of us will have children, and give up everything to make their lives better. And some of us won't. And some of us will, because it feels like the thing you're supposed to do at a certain age.

When a lot of the people I know get married and have children, I hope that I'm invited to weddings and christenings. And when some of the people I know get married and have children, I hope I never find out. And if I find out, I hope I can find a way to live with it.

I've been running up a hill for so long and so hard, that if it turns out that it's actually a cliff, my momentum will surely carry me over the edge.

I don't believe in love, I believe in fear, I believe in desperation and I believe in ego.

This doesn't bother me.