The Host of the Seraphim.

I hate it that the most happening (this is debatable, but it comes close, I dare say) period of my entire university life has to occur in the final sem of my final year. It's driving me NUTS and I feel like I'm about to completely lose my focus (what focus?) where the thesis and studies are involved. I suppose it does provide some sort of incentive to burn through all of this godforsaken work and get it out of the way as soon as is humanely possible, but I have a nagging feeling that by then the moment'll be gone.

Walking around the house brings back memories. This is our the couch, that is where the wine spilt, in there is where we slept, that is the song that was playing when...

I can feel fragments of control slipping through my fingers. This is not me; not who I want to be...

***

Memory's a wonderful thing if you don't have to deal with the past.