How the Pigeon flies

In the remnants of sorrow, all that is true is a cruel game. A labyrinth, a riddle, something to keep you. In the remnants of sorrow, all that is left is a nonsensical way. A pattern, a cycle, something to break out of. In the remnants of sorrow you will have to choose. “Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.” – William Shakespear