In the library on the second floor. It is night and cold outside. My fingers are cracked and bleeding. The dark yellowish orange tinge of the library mixed with the black background coming through the windows gives me a dull sense of comfort. I am listening to music in my own world but it is only borrowed. Thinking back two years later, that should have been the end. How is this night different than the night I am having now? The night I will have two years future and so on. Life performs its symphony while I flip two pages back and reread passages. I struggle to achieve comprehension.