Love is a beast that steals your soul. A beast that devours you completely, without prejudice. However, the beast means you no pain. In fact, the beast desires only to pleasure you, to excite you, to restore your desire to live.

I have been devoured by this beast. Yet I feel pain and torment. I feel cold and alone.

Could it be that the beast has spit me out? Left me writhing in pain, alone and empty on the cold hard ground? Could it be that the beast has decided I am unworthy of such pleasure and happiness?

Or could it be that I fought too hard against the beast and at last she has given up and left me to my own torment?

The latter of the two would I suspect. For to be rejected by the beast is, simply put, to be rejected from within. Within your own heart... Within your own soul...

To be rejected by the beast is a self-inflicted wound. A wound that will only heal when your soul has found peace.

This night... this quiet, painful night... I beg for that beast to swallow me whole. Yet listen she does not. Not yet...

These self-inflicted wounds weaken me... and as I grow weaker, the more cynical I will become... the more hardened I will become... the more insufferable I will be...

The beast will abandon me...

The burden of healing lies upon me... solely upon me...

Now... Which road shall I take?