I wrote another poem today. This was the eighth one that traces itself back to you. You inspired all of these at least, if not many more. You have read some of them and some of them would be completely new to you, that is - if you ever wish to read those.
I have so many questions. I have so many answers. No question matches the answers. No answer matches the questions.
It's all breaking. It's all shattering. It's all melting down.
Life is irreparably damaged.
Would you like to have some evening tea?