why always in this place? where "goodnights" have ceased to exist by the mere assumption that we are too old, or that muttering it would mean we meant it, and that would be to real in these walls. walls that hold an unspoken agreement to never be in depth, never to hold a real conversation in it's midst. a place where there are walls, that have turned into kingdoms of secrecy. all consumed by a lie, a narcotic idea that this place is just for surviving. that is place is a house, not a home.