Two birds are flying overhead (they're getting tired - just like me)

She waits. She waits a minute of hope and days of hopelessness. Sometimes she just waits, there is no greater insult. She sinks into her thoughts and tries to blot out the prison cell. If she's lucky, it dissolves and she can spend a half hour out in the open, beyond the doors and walls and hatred of herself. If she isn't lucky, her thoughts will poison her.

How long would he wait? He waited with months, days, minutes on his heavy head, and with the repetitive cycles of light and dark piled on top of the long and short pieces of time. He waited with boredom sticking its fingers down his throat. He waited for an unknown time, a time different from all the time on his head. It was unending, waiting for something that might never happen. Like in the winter - time fell like hissing snow through the crack in the windows, and it would never stop snowing. He stood in it as it piled up around him, and there was no end to the drowning.

"i dont mean to have you worried or troubled. its the last thing i want. never take anything i ever say too seriously. youd need a search party to track my moods."