Are we done yet? Or do we still hold the angst within? Like burning lava and a raging storm. We are mad and engulfed in fire, aren't we?
Do we hate each other? The betrayal is often painful, but less than this question which hardly crosses our mind in all this hullabullo.
We wouldn't answer. No, that would weaken the embers that are still erupting in reddish hue. Let the wind blow some more, let the woods smoke our narcotic bond. Let the forest burn down in a whirlpool of gray. We are not done yet!