This dreadful existence has ripped me apart a thousand times, but here I am alive. Although I don’t feel alive, I don’t feel like a breathing, living thing, not anymore - not after millenniums upon millenniums of trudging through the mud of humanity.

The loneliness is unbearable, and I hoped it would pass; that the yearning would die but it never did and so I’m left wandering alone, understanding no one will ever be with me forever even though they promised so.

They promised their forever and not mine, and so my heart breaks and the tears dry, but the pain never leaves.

I can’t die, I’ll never die…

I can’t live either, not truly…

So, I suffer.

I’d blow up the world if it meant peace.

If it meant, I could finally rest.

As much as I hate humanity, I love it double, and so I can’t kill it.

So, I suffer.

Forever alone in my immortality.

I suffer.