Phantom dreams fade and the lunatic awakes with eyes glaring. All his hopes lay next to his body and slowly disappear from his sight. He hears a noise in the distance. Approaching it, he purposes an idea to have contact with this sound to view its beauty. Anticipation runs high and cannot be contained within his soul. The lunatic craves the beauty, desires to hold it, to touch it, to love it, to see it, to have it. The distances between the two can be circumvented, if it would only be allowed by either. Yet scores and scores of defiant little problems prevent either from allowing such an action. Simply living together for so long, they did not see the love develop. Hearts they are fragile, thinks the lunatic. Hearts can bleed, hearts can break, hearts can melt, hearts can divide, hearts can think, but hearts cannot heal. The lunatic is broken and confused. He does not know what to do, how to act, or what to say. Thus he sits and digresses. The power of the sound intensifies, and the fermentation of the torment continues as he lacks a solution to this ever burdening heartache.