It's not your choice. You have no control. Nothing's in your hands anymore. Nothing. Are you listening? Do you hear that? Sound of angels. But you don't listen. It never occurs to you that there's even a sound to listen for. So you don't hear it. I'm trying to hear, but it's hard. Elusive. It's that rare feeling. Two different places, several different times. Like magic. Like for that space of time, nothing matters, but you and Him. Alone in a crowded room. But He's with everybody else. But He's alone with you. And that's the strangest thing of all - it all makes sense. I wish I knew how to talk. Had a new way to cry. They found it. Their answer in the ink, their crying, the pain of the needle. These are my tears. You are the sole witness. It's easier this way. No thinking, no struggling, no pain, no embarrassment. Just me and you. But it never was just me and you, was it? And now it never will be. Silently, I pray. I pray, and I hope more that you can hear me than He can. For that prayer. She needs helps. I hurt for her. I want to help, but I don't know how. I can't handle these things. So I gave her the only help I knew. I tried to give her You. I hope I helped her through. I hope she will survive. I will survive. But I often wonder why. But I guess I'll never know. I often wonder how it feels to be on the other side. But the grass isn't always greener. Sometimes my whites are whiter, and my colours brighter. And in the end, who knows? There's no point wondering. Is there? Really? Having a bad day. A good day. A bad day. I'm beginning to struggle to tell the difference. That can't be a good thing. Yes, it can. Let's not be logical. Let's not make sense. Too much makes sense. I just don't want to see sense. You want too much, my dear. You're getting sleepy... So many people, yet so little choice. It's repetitive. Repetitive. Repetitive. I don't know. And I'm not asking you. I don't really want to know. Where's all this heading? Ah, now there's a question and a half.