The cold blood began to trickle down his warm cheek and onto the white marble floor.
As I sat there and thought on what was being said I realised that the image in my mind began to coalesce.
Our what seem insignificant daily experiences, I have just realised, is the very foundation of ourselves; however, it's the things that hurt the most that influences our actions.
I could picture it now, it was early morning outside the crooked and rotting entrance gates to where my childhood once flourished.
We could tell that the abundant silence meant something had happened to him.
London is a miserable place on a winter's night.
The end, I believe, is difficult to see no matter how far from the start.
The prospect of being able to go back and start all over has diminished ever since we took that first step outside.
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