Have you ever thought about identity? About who you really are deepdown inside - the side that you might rarely show the world. It's strange you know, how much you actually hide from the people who you're supposed to be closest to. Perhaps it's that fear of being judged, the knowing that once you spill your heart out people might never look at you the same way again. I guess - somehow - everyone has their own skeletons in their closets, but how grotesque and mangled it might be, we'll never get to know.

It's that feeling of having something lodged in your throat, that uncanny notion that perhaps something's going a bit wrong, but yet you can't seem to place your finger on it. Can the lack of communication and contact rupture sustenance? It'd take a while for me to arrive to any form of sensible conclusion. Only time will tell.