If I give up, will it matter?
If I go, will anyone come after me?
If I die, will anyone shed tears?
Must we who swore Oaths to serve and defend His people, to do His will, pay so high a price?
Do I have a right to be human when nobody, except one or two in my whole life, denied that right to me?
If I cry, is there anyone who will dry my tears?
If I scream, will anyone be around to fight my fears away?
Will anyone reach out for my hands when I am drowning?
What am I doing wrong? Why do bastards like Francis and Docefil rarely find themselves lonely? Why, by God’s Most Sacred Light, am I lonely?
Why is it that when they need me to be there I can drop every fucking thing I’m doing but when I just need them to be with me, just so I can forget the sorrow trying to swallow me alive… it is sooooooo hard to find any of them?
What is left of me?
Have we lost the war?
Do I even have a right to ask?
How – and why – can I love so much, care so much, when repeatedly it’s been proven that, at the end of the day, those things don’t matter?
Why do I even try?
Why am I still alive, then?