When there's nothing left to do, I write. I write like there's no tomorrow, no today, no yesterday. I write until it doesn't hurt anymore. Nothing lasts forever, neither does hurt. So I write. And I drink. And I cry. and the world continues to turn. And life goes on. Friendships are forged and ruined. Love is made and broken. WIth each season, my heart breaks a little more. Eventually it will shatter. And alone, I will find myself incapable of loving. What happens to people who can't love anymore? Do they wither and fade? Do they go crazy, trapped in the prision of their own mind? Does a broken heart still beat? No. Without love, a woman becomes like the snow - beautiful, sparkling, and untouchable. Ice water runs through my veins. My tears, icicles on my cheeks. My lips, the color of blueberries, something he wants to taste. He doesn't know that the blueberries are a frozen poison - for I truly have become an ice queen.