This Sunday desolation, this solitary contemplation, from love comes indifference–this is when the madness spawns.
She watched as he pacified himself with a long drag–inhaling his lifeforce from licorice vapour. It dawned on her that perhaps he had never changed. Perhaps he had always been this stranger. Perhaps he never actually needed her–more like, he had wanted to need her–and now all that was left was this aromatic silence.