Varamyr schreef:
They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn't. It's .. smoke trapped in a closed room, swirling, changing. Buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking. But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant. The past can never be completely erased. It lingers. Like the scent of burning wood.
There's is a storm inside of us. A burning. A river. A drive. An unrelenting desire to push yourself harder and further than anyone could think possible. Pushing ourselves into these cold, dark corners. Where the bad things live. Where the bad things fight. We wanted that fight of the highest volume. A loud fight. The loudest, coldest, darkest, most unpleasant of the unpleasant fights.