The dream coalesced into a nightmare, and I am left staring at the ruins, ravaged by war and time. After all, are not love and war one and the same? Born of passion, glorious and dreadful in all its splendour, it rages and burns with intensity, a ferocity unmatched even by nature's wraths. All that is left is carrion for the ravens as the death knell tolls and the broken remnants remain, a mute testimony of tragedy transgressed.

Strong words beget strong emotions, which in turn incites passion. Passion has always been the harbinger of untold tragedies. An uncontrollable forest fire. But before the war, political, emotional intrigue always takes place. The softest spots, the weakest links, the best way to inflict maximum damage. The spider weaves its web, and another, uses its web against it. A delicate, deadly dance, and Death is only one possibilty.

Sigh.

Why must it devolve to this? If only I hadn't done anything, had not allowed the tongue to poison friendship with the unspoken. If only she would stop pretending. If only. History and alternate history. Man's longing for alternate realities belies his dissatisfaction with life. Perhaps that's why computer games, virtual realities are so appealing: the save/reload function. She has been so nonchalant about the chaos surrounding us. I faltered and panicked at the sudden cold that emanated from my companion. I lost control of myself temporarily.. lost myself to the wild emotions surging.. Fear of doing the wrong thing. Fear of losing her. Frustration at her denial. Frustration at my weakness. But I, I will force this turmoil to the depths of my soul. It will become fuel. And the machines of war shall begin to grind.. as the sands of Time trickle in the Hourglass.

The season of planting and growing is gone, frost has taken over: the first sign of a bitterly cold winter.