5a.m. is when things are at the edge of impossibility.
A part of me has been trying to retrace and remember the last bits of this man. Part of me has left it cold, neglected and hidden in a hard steel box and hammered it shut. Why does it come rushing back? Why do our dreams betray us to tell the secret that kills us all? Three years; I don't know what to think or how to feel about this. We're all just pathetic, we abuse our feelings til it either turns into sad little mutes or grow up really fucked up, and leave us for good.

Why do we keep trying to justify Him, who made all this happen? Why do we say He had a purpose, when we know all it caused was numbing pain? Why is this man suddenly in a happy place, he who didn't believe and should be condemned?

Self- deception is everywhere; in our homes, at schools, at 5 am wide awake, or asleep. We tell ourselves lies to comfort ourselves. The saddest part is, none of us are sure, so we might as well love these little lies.