We aren't taught to mourn. We're told to forget.
Once a month, for one evening, we are free to wear our natural skins. We are on the outside as we are internally.
No amount of speed could break me of this darkness... The sorrow is ever clinging to me.
And I realize, so suddenly that it hurts, just how empty a creature can be, while still filled to the brim with drowning agony.
It's what we do, we continue on. Yet, what is the point? There is nothing ahead of us when there is nothing left of us.
Is there more to see?" Brixton asks. "No. Just a long walk back to hope.
