I thought the weather was rather drapery of late. And it did little to perk my mood.

Apart from the heavy downpour tributarating murky pools I'd have to muster in the morning, my thoughts never really drifted far from being less of a dishevelled fool.

It's been almost 2 weeks since. I recall the day when I first laid my eyes on what those words meant. A part of me struggled momentarily to comprehend what I had read. After a pause, I realised I had already begun to pick up the pieces.

Granted, I was making little progress in this facade I had come to call a "means to an end". Tying up loose bits. I avoided their cold stares. Their wrought questions. Of which the answers I'd reply would only equate to certainty. I ran the length of the moment, to the ends of my desperation, and realised it had started frayed since the beginning.

Did we fall short of something truly precious and unique? Why do I feel so prematurely misplaced? Misunderstood? Why have we shunned ourselves to this harsh extent?

When did we turn to such bitterness?