Can they not see past these masks, to even for one single second care to peer beneath and witness the pain and turmoil we feel again and again? Or are they trapped as well, commissioned to suffer within the desolation of their walls, to wander day to day their own empty halls? Stuck in their torrential storm, crashing and pounding them about in deafening waves, drowned in lakes of endless rain. Still, why does it matter if no one is there to hear our agonized calls? There is no reason here to stay, it feels every day we perform in reciting the same play, before being ripped apart by our emptiness as the curtain falls. I thought once that we were all the same, now for once I truly see what has always lied before my blind eyes; that I am to blame. I am the only one.