There's been so much loving on my behalf in the past, wasted so foolishly at times, that I'm now in this sort of crisis where I need you to love me more than I love you. And I need it right now.

I'm writing, since it's so darn cold inside, I'm writing because I'm guessing only something also from the inside could change the state of things. And, despite the multitude of people around me on the train, there is no one to actually talk to, or at least not without waking up from an obviously uncomfortable yet still so alluring sleep. Just coming out of a tunnel, I can't help but noticing that a bee managed to get inside while we were passing through a tunnel. Unexpected enough, I must say. Of all the places you could meet a bee, a tunnel through a mountain is not among the first you would think of (or at all, for that matter). And I can't help but wonder...,who will I meet next.? How and when? Why and for how long?
Ah, at least it's warmer now.

The quantity of a single person can be measured in time; the more time you spend with someone, the more quantitatively important they become to you. It is, by no means, a real assessment of that particular individual and their value, but rather a self-oriented appreciation of how much you allowed yourself to be drawn into them. Fear of losing such a person is fear of self-loss and thus betrays one's insecurity about their own depth; it is fear of self-depletion. One's quality, however, can always be seen in gestures, thoughts, words etc. or else in how deep they dwell in your soul. Shallow souls, then, could never value quality over quantity and their existence cannot transcend immediate time.

Music heals wounds but does not cure diseases.