The end of one era the beginning of another, friendships will dry and new ones will spring from the ground like I hope they will. Uprooted and forlorn, I must leave this old life and go into the vibrant world that is ahead of me. Suddenness of news hurts less than a drawn-out explanation for it leaves no brief moment to take in the insanity of the unfolding events. If it can be changed it will be changed by force of Will (pun). Traveling along a road of grievance and confusion one will alway stop to take in the sickly flowers and enjoy the fading silver-lining in all things. Violets are blue, roses are red, daises are yellow, the flowers are dead, the farmer no longer exists and his flock of sheep will soon follow another, as if the first had not meant a thing. To stay or not to stay is a choice taken from me by one who does not deserve to make the simplest of choices.
I swear I didn't want to make it sound as suicidal as it does. Oh well.
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