I hasten to bury a scoff in apology and agreement. How foreign this all seemed to me; foreign and meaningless, dancing between a border of reflex and imbecility. My hands rush forth with biting words that are dressed to the nines in the finest indifference I can muster. You are smug, you are confidant in the passion you spread about thickly like jam on toast. Scorn rises to my mind but is quickly pressed back inside by the most peculiar longing. How I miss that blind passion, how secure I felt when I could wrap my belief around me and find stable warmth. I've accepted what I don't know in an act of honesty. I miss it, though, I miss knowing, undeniably knowing....I can't mock you, even if I tried. You're happy blazing ahead in flames of pretension and self righteousness, of secure arrogance. You so confidently chase your words of allegiance with tones that are subtler, but still alight with the same bright flagrancy. How doubtless you are, how so very knowing. There are a million insults and debates I want to toss at you, something to tear you down from your elaborate soapbox.

But there's no point. I'm so hurt, I'm so wounded from leaving a path and starting anew. I have no answers but you have volumes of certainty. I have a closely-studied and complex void, whereas you face me with a monstrous, prefabricated edifice that you've cut-and-pasted into my life. Your faith made me worthless