All things born must eventually die, withering in decay. What is the value of living if there is no risk of loss? What is the joy to be gathered from the most beautiful smile if it might never fade? What is the ecstasy of being if not eventually to be undone?

There is still beauty in decay. Pain to be clutched, tears to be licked, madness to be grasped and devoured. All things with breath must twist in torment, scream in agony and pain, heave a final sigh when crushed below the heel of perfection.

A blossom that has bloomed must wilt. Laughter heard on the breeze fades to silence. Brightness tarnishes with time.

Time kills all things of beauty, time and the beauty that exists within it. Destiny sees to its demise. One thing certain in this found life, time will see it trampled to ruin.

But time does not bear all the blame. For time will only do with it what you will. When that time has been shattered, there is only one other to thank, and I thank this other fully. Knowing her like no other, wishing not to know her at all, living this life in a decrepit box, who else could be to blame? Yes, I speak of me.

My choices all, made with only one regret – time. A vicious circle, this I know as well. Disbelief, shocking pain, trembling in fear – broken, always broken, never unbroken.

I am to blame for all that has decayed, all I have allowed to wither, all I have wished for that has wilted – the blossom trampled before its time. Time’s accomplice – truth; wielded as my weapon, held weak as my shield, ignorance in believing… but the believing of immeasurable worth, the cost: only yet one more piece torn away. I give it willingly; I cherish its meaning and cannot diminish its loss with regret.

Time I thought to lay the blame upon, but time was only doing its lot. I am all that is left to blame, so I thank myself for all that may have been lost.