I miss the me that was lost some time ago on the road of ages. Should you come across it, could you please tell it to come home? I'm not mad or anything. We had our difficulties, sure, and I know it never was easy with me. But in the end, we always found a way to go on. Even blades that separated flesh couldn't separate us. It was our blood lowing and dripping. Right now, it wouldn't even strike me as odd if purple goo would be squirting from the trenches because I feel so unfamiliar with myself.
Changes need to be done. This ramshackle hut, loosely called body of mine, needs to be arranged in one way or another. You know, new paint here and there, break down some walls, blow the fucking place into pieces... Maybe... just... maybe, I can make it homely again. Maybe, it will come back. Maybe it's not dead yet.
That's an old picture, back from the days when I was whole, not a hole.
