A lonely creative silence of a character visits his ^only^ at a public resting place, they promised to talk....like a true body he keeps his promises. He can see the grave getting bigger as this is all he see's, walking closer....and...closer. it was raining....typical of London to depress the situation more than needed. He stops with a fud and sies....' "this stone with your name dotted in consecutive circles brings back a memory only i know of since you passed.....it crushes me....a thought that is a spilt second squeeze can linger just enough to confuse the smartest body...'he awkwardly sits down on the cold and damp grassy area to stop the tension from controlling him, he stares with a glaze up the sky and close's his eyes as the rain cools a strange burning sensation' "i will only be me! 'he shouts' i undersatand the stages, the percentages, the dumb fact that i have to put up with these slowly changerble emotions that constantly try to beat my method i will control this!" 'he tire's, picks himself up and brushes off the unconserned similar ground and walks back to the uncontrolled lie that is his nothing of a life, is he happy? we cannot anwser that....he feels nothing, he will be fine.....'
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