Wrappedinplastic is dead.

Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir - open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us - guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we’d know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion - we’d be truly dead. ”

Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over, but had me believing it was always something that I’d done. But I don’t wanna live that way, reading into every word you say… ”