(...) One can try, however, to borrow time until some solution is found, until, so to speak, some miracle happens. I tried it, out of sheer naïveness. One cannot borrow time, for time cannot be borrowed: time is. Time belongs to itself, it's nature is oblivious to the petty human dramas we call life. I should have known it, but I made the mistake of indulging myself into a moment of optimism, knowing all too well that optimism leads nowhere. Or rather, knowing that optimism misleads, replacing reality by a poor substitute, a sort of illusion. Illusions are not real though, and following them inevitably leads us astray. As such, I made many mistakes along the way, always believing - foolishly, I might add - that eventually I'd be able to make things right. Eventually what happened was, I had to face reality when all illusions collapsed and I found myself alone in a dark room, the mistakes I had done while chasing illusions heavy upon my shoulders. Those mistakes were not illusory - they were real. All too real, terribly real. (...)