Somewhere deep down inside, I know you're not so angry. You're not so cruel. You're tired.

You have a shroud over your eyes, a cloth made of purgatory. Makes it hard to breathe some days.

If you give up, your skin begins to turn as clay. Cracks begin to form until they reach into your chest and into your heart.

So don't give up just yet. The day is not yet irredeemable, and no matters the years, no matter the time, you must have patience to remove the cloth over your eyes once more.