“We hear only those questions for which we are in a position to find answers.” — Friedrich Nietzsche

Rome is burning, yet here I am he said, pouring himself another drink. Sinked into another devils covenant, and endless face-to-face encounter. He loathe himself to dead, snort it out she said, let it in let it sink. We born too late to trace the fucking history and too self-indulgence to conceive the fact that we have a prosperous life.

All the small epistle in the blue-ribbon box that he spare behind dark leather jacket that he never put on. Thousand colors of letters, and pictures that he fondness, now fetching his soul everyday. 3AM audio book awaken his funeral, he snatch himself out till the morning fog. When he realized that all of the memento is only leave him the affliction, where he lay his sword and yield.

Joana whispered to him in a very romantic way, despite all of the contrary that you devoted to me, I still think you as a snazzy man. He conceal his head and sealed his eyes after that, drifting his mind from the memory-lane. He still absorbed by the scent of her, breathe the chloé in and out. He bore himself with the ventilation, he look at the ceiling and it stares back at him, judging him and watching him having the silence friction.

Break it all they said, you need to outgrew it, put it all together with all the odd-come-shorts. But he will never harken to it, he know that the storm will only jolt the flimsy ship, but not this ship he said.