Thinking to himself, he wondered, why it mattered so much? He is a loose cannon on his way to his destination, You see we are mortals to this world just as everyone else.

He always considered himself as an intellectual individual. Yet he simply couldn't put his finger on the point of addiction to intimacy, no night seems complete in lonesomeness.

Some say he is comfortable, others feel as if anywhere he is he doesn't fit in, a person lost in time. Trying so desperately to get to that point.

The point where he can just forget that there isn't a significant time or place to be, and at that second he deceived himself into understanding the fact that he is where he needs to be, in a loss.

I go to this place
I know of her face
And the one that she wears
A rouge soul in a place unnoticed
Her name echoes thru my dreams
In my head I see her smile
With my own eyes I see her cry
Day after day she wears that face
That face that makes you think that things are fine. You wear yours and I will wear mine.
I think of her more often then not.