Why expect courtesy from me, or a pledge of allegiance? A madman has the right to lose himself—why should that be a surprise?
I had set forth the moment the thought of you took hold, and now, your face appears in the mirror like an echo of something lost yet never truly mine.
What fear should I have of wounds when my own steps have begun inscribing them? If madness knows no measure of loss, why would it seek restraint?
He who learns to love dearly finds beauty in all—then where does rivalry fit among those whose hearts are full?
She made me the centre of love and then walked away. But if hate finds no room here, what meaning would enmity hold?
And so, I stand here, eyes lowered, hesitant yet present—after all, I had considered this before coming, so why now ask for permission?
Come, beloved of a city that never truly called me its own—come and see what your indifference has made of me.
I had arrived with my heart resting upon my palms, offering it as if it were meant to be yours. But now that it has slipped, shattered—what grievance could I possibly hold?
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