This blank page reflects my empty soul.  My tales of woe and tragedy have been translated into nothing?  Into something?  the translation that transcends.  Parasite to host.  Pay it foreward.  And now i'm empty inside until it returns to me with the battle scars of love and death, burned and bruised, torn and freyed.  But for now I will wait the empty vestle until we are reunited like lovers lost at war.