Thus, a fragmented mind is strangely cleared, thoughts coming to. Metaphorical knife could not strike heart soon enough, guilt’s influence while powerful be ripped from it’s core. It wasn’t right, and that much came into conscious after continuous prying from outside sources.
Pain had been dealt universal; his sting was a double edge sword in reality, wounds while more severe toward others also chipping away at what identified itself as his sanity over time once sinking in. Though no more. Rejecting depression with a subtle burst.
Reality? Nothing would be solved from sweet escape except own skin becoming dormant. Only real change could come from effort, and a true attempt to change. Love was still too far off and a farfetched idea to accept, if even ever. But at the very least patches to make up for pain could be done. And pass kindness forward.
Livewire? Perhaps he could do that. All in do time.