Perhaps it was the contrast. A juxtaposition of sports and fatigue against a pathetically staged campfire, with the same haunting horrors. The memories that torment, only because those around me cannot let it go. Well, forgiven or not, you spoiled it. Time and again, I wanted to erase those memories of immaturity and to move on.

But you can't, can you?

No one gives a damn if you're robot or not. Just as long as you know how to live without angering the world, we live and let live. But sometimes, your gaping mouth and insolent tongue gets the better of you. I daresay pique was not the only emotion, it was the ultimatum. Storm brews and those that sustain make hurricanes and the one that preserves it ferocity the longest promises rapture part II. But yours is a constant pit of fire, each shot harder than before, and there's no stopping you.

And I don't know why last night's campfire was so dreaded. The coin toss and the stupid acts, nothing saved it-only to further burden me. And with your incessant voice and mine lost, it was a clear victory for you. I had no bomb shelter to shy away to, and it just kept coming.

Where art thou my inner peace?

And when can I find it?