suddenly realised that i havent 'caught up' with the action.

'we cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.'

the only reason i blanked out was the epiphany that i was like rosencrantz and guildenstern. a little of both.. a mixture with the player and hamlet. what's that word?.. escapism. heard him sing to me in my dreams once more. what's the other word..? hope. i'm too tired to go on.. i really really can't. my heart died the day you walked off.. without goodbye.