I am a retiring, silent, unsociable, and discontent person.
You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.
It would be very unjust to say that you deserted me, but that I was deserted, and sometimes terribly so, is true.
I am away from home and must always write home, even if any home of mine has long since floated away into eternity.
I carry the bars within me.
The state we find ourselves in is sinful quite independent of guilt.