Is there nothing left to say or way too much left unsaid? Us familiar strangers tend to be thoroughly petrified of each other, who wouldn't avoid walking skeletons? Some however, stand out. Proud achievements of human genetics. These most beloved specimens are adorned with medals and paraded through those turquoise hallways which give off the pungent odors of tile mold and adolescent alienation. No matter where I tread, a faint but unmistakable undercurrent of melancholy follows my tepid footfalls, imperceptible to most but there none the less; poisoning my passions in a gray smothering cloud. I often choke on rejected stomach fluids, gasp for the air I used to breathe. What happened to that life sustaining oxygen? The desire for greatness never died but gradually malaise rendered it comatose. Ive just awoken from a day dream, everything in that place was so real, alive, full of life effortlessly going, flowing, the reason was intrinsic. Today the faces full of so many etched lines, they try so hard each day. It only seems to be getting harder.