Grudges will not flicker out and all of the ill feelings left will not be waived. The marked epoch, which by the way I distinguish it as the grotesque distortion, will eternally be scripted as an apocalypse. The catastrophe revolutionizes the way I have become. Literally put; detached, skeptical, and callous. Metaphorically interpreted as cold, insecure, and inhumane.

I abhor the transformation but it gives me the fundamental strength to overcome any stage play of mental torment.

There is time for grief, and grief it was time for. Indeed, there is a time for everything. Now, to set a good eye on a better tomorrow, in earnest hope of never having to relive the inhumane despondency once more.