My hand trembles as my fingers trace my chapped lips. I can feel the confused scowl molded on my forehead. I can feel the headache that will come from my curmudgeon creases. Another step down this pitiful spiral.

One of the good ones sent me a poem yesterday. There is a thread through us, sometimes it's twisted and sometimes it makes it hard to breathe, but it's there and it binds us. We ebb and flow, soar and crash, I've been with you, we've seen her side, and he has done it all before. Different ends of the earth, but the same place.

How can there not be fate, destiny in a world where we fit so tightly in the spaces that exsist? The roles we play, the actions we take...this is nothing new. She's seen it before, I can't fathom her patience.

Yes, I threw you away, I recycled her into another form, another time, but what you send comes back to you threefold and here we are, three times more than the last time.

Sometimes it hurts to look in the mirror. I'm sorry that sometimes it hurts less to hurt you.