The strings that have been holding my heart up in its place have been cut so that my heart has come crashing down. And any words of excuse which may have been on the tip of my tongue have long since dried up in parched silence. And I know it's my fault, and I know I'm to blame. I know that I've been exactly the kind of person that I hate. And I cut those strings myself, in a violent rage of indifference, with scissors fashioned from your words to sever the fine threads. And so here I am, with my heart, in my hand and the assurance of this is the cessation of its beating in my chest. Regretfully yours.

Kram Isterpf