I wish you handn't done that, I don't want to think about that part of my life, and how I am just like anyone else. How there is nothing to rescue and no one to fix things with. How it is ancient and worthless, but nonetheless it is unequal. Yes it is unequal. Because I made him that, and for it, I'm so sorry. But I'm only sorry for myself, as selfish as it may be. Because I would have never hurt you, not ever, under any moon or star. It's just different, yes, so different my darling, too different for any words or phrases or poems or lyrics or explanations. Things just happen. Undesirable, angry things. I'd like to erase them, but they are too real. Much too unfair at the same time. I'm as guilty as I am hurt.