I want something more substantial than tears to keep me through the night; flowing freely from my heart twisting in pain. A seemingly never-ending river winding its salty path down my cheeks to stain my lips. Lips that will never again have someone taste them...or even want to try. Years of loneliness stretch before me like an open highway of torment: seeing what others possess, what I lack and would so desperately love to have. A life of one is the most wasted being in the world.