Its an old title. And new meanings to it. You shouldn’t have done that to me. You really shouldn’t have. Now I’ve grown envious. And more, sad. Did I push you? Did I push you into this? I think I did. Didn’t I? This isn’t what you wanted. Art was your way of expression. Your jealousy reminds me of my crime. I behaved like an adamant parent, who wanted his kid to do IAS, because he was a screw up who couldn’t do it.
Don’t tell me more. Don’t justify my actions. Your words have told more. The gleam in your eye when you looked at your passion have told me of my crime. Guilt. More of it. Different forms, and different reasons. But all looking at me, with their fangs, ready to drain my life through those two tiny holes it can make.
