I look around as if I was looking right at them. The days come and go as if I was watching the time passing away from what I want to accomplish. Be the sight of dim thought of what as if we really want to be thought for. The good memories, which are, vanish be the ones people only care to remember, for what I have said. As I swept with rage the only one that thought has never been cared to be thought for. Which we remember as I look around I feel the one striving to look back at me.
by James Anderson