'How can I sit here,' you must wonder 'and repeat all of the things that have placed me in this cage.'
If I cannot change that then how am I ever going to live by a word I only ever said between my teeth.
I did not trust it, so it failed me. Now I do, it is failing me. The world carries on.
Chopin plays on; I no longer enjoy him there, because now I need him. Unlike Chopin I am no longer needed.
It is incomprehensible: in and amongst the longing to reverse those mistakes which drone like wasps in each ear; both stings reaching deep in to my gut,