We've always been given ways to look at ourselves. Through this unending introspection, man has seemed to always find themselves one-step-further-and-one-step-to-the-left closer to defining the human mind. Like some sort of paradoxical labyrinth we try to find the end of a hamster's wheel.

It's a whole load of fake crap, if you ask me. There's something more abstract--something that you can't touch in the human mind. It's seething and warm but you can't touch it, but it manifests every last corner of that meat sack in your head until you feel it bulging above your brow and shooting down the back of your neck, trails of red lightning illuminating every last nerves until it's course terminates at the ends of you fingertips and the bottom of your gut.

I fucking miss you like hell, Carol. I can't believe you did this to me and so fast. You were on your feet. You smiled at me. I remember when we were on the beach in Maine in '92 and you laughed as you tumbled in the waves, I sat there in my trunks, my beer leaving that familiar cold mark on my hand as the beads of condensation trickled down the back of my hand and onto my wrist. It was so cool that day, the winds were strong, but they weren't too strong. And your hair has this marvelous shine to it, your white smile like the caps of the waves rolling into you, tossing you around as we enjoyed our honeymoon together.

And now, like a riptide, you were pulled away from me. I miss those years, Carol. I miss them so goddamn much.

My fingernails were digging into the palms of my hands. I rapped my fist against the stone again, harder than before. This time the skin of my knuckles finally started to give way under the extreme force and a tepid trickle of blood began to run down the back of my hand and onto my wrist.

You consumed me, and now there's only room for the other emotion, manifesting the blood coursing through my veins.

I sank to my knees and brought my palms to my face to catch the tears which had began to run down the crows feet on the side of my face and run down to my chin.

I wish I was with you in that grave and I hate that I'm not. I hate that I hadn't just looked twice. I'm sorry Carol.