try having an intimate conversation while paying maximum attention to everything that's being said between the lines. and try not to get too scared. for often enough we say things that aren't meant to the ones we're talking to, but to ourselves, and to ourselves alone. i noticed it in that night, in that lonely and dark night when we shattered our walls and shared everything we could share again. you were there, sitting next to me, talking to me - but you weren't really talking to me, but to yourself. you were trying to convince yourself, to make yourself believe in what you were saying, for somehow you seem to need to believe on that. it's understandable; but you see, you're just like me,for we both see, we both understand. but that, apparently, is not a reason strong enough to make us stop. and you know, just like i did, that the road you're walking is going to take you nowhere. you know, as i did, what waits you in the end: loneliness and despair, the same loneliness and the same despair that are already haunting you outside of your fragile veils of belief. you know you fight a battle you can't possibly win, and yet you fight it.
mind you, my dear, this is not what i wish for you - for you, i can't hope for nothing but for the best. but i know you, and you're so much like me. and i don't want you to end up just like i did, looking back and seeing one year of life wasted in a bloody swamp.