I see the trail I left behind.
I see how it has lost it precious moments.
What is eluded from me,
is the reason that lies between,
and the road that lies ahead.

The source of confusion is self-inflicted, they say.
If the choice was clear,
why still do words and stories hurt me like no other?

Its a circle, a mean cycle.

I wanna get off.

Estoy muy triste.

Easy.
Straightforward.

Por que?

Something's misplaced.
Not lost.
Yet it had not return.

Mi mejor amiga esta lejos de mi.
Muchos lejos.

The metaphorical distance.
It kills.

Helado.
Haha.