That I could find bones to pick with you, but that I don't. And that I don't know why I even bother most times. Tonight for instance.
I didn't need to come back here. Believe me, I didn't. And not if this is what I'll come back to.
But you never get that do you?
Here's the thing-
1) It's okay because no one can possibly hurt me more than myself. That's the beauty of what I do. And
2) I'm tired. You make me tired.