[hider=Fickle - ??? -]
Are you really my friend? I have you to rely on, right? In times of need and want, you're there, right? Do I really have you..? Or are you just as fickle as the thought we have of darkness and loneliness; the soft draft that penetrates the gaps in our window sealing, or the plastic of the rusted box cutter on the hall outside? We're you even really there to begin with? When you're leaving, will I notice you? When you're dying, will I see you? Can I even hear if you scream my name in agony from wounds too deep to stitch and too erratic to explain? But what if it's the other way around. When I'm dying and bleeding and hurting in every inch of my being, feeling so lost and incomplete, yet still walking forwards despite how futile my mind must be - will you notice me?

Or are you just as fickle..?
[/hider]