Everyday they startle themselves with a new, deeper level of failure.

They go after each other around like wild, blood thirsty animals in a small cage, going around in circles and circles but getting absolutely nowhere with the vague thought that perhaps they will someday move past this. They won't though, as long as she chases and he runs- and soon he'll just run himself right off a cliff and she'll be to intent on catching him to stop before they both hit the ground.

No one hears what they yell about. No one cares. They don't even care. They scream and they yell and they cry and they i bleed /I at each other and until they both run dry they'll hold and they'll comfort and they'll fuck and they'll forgive. However, neither one of them will forget.

It's the basic principle of the thing though. The loft's so open that arguments bounce around in there and echo and repeat themselves, as if the walls are drawing recollection of a similar situation that took place- oh say,- and hour up to a day ago. It's funny waking up to an fight about coffee and Benny and April but over time it gets old and tired and somewhat mundane. Soon, he just walks into the kitchen, catches an earful, before flopping back into his bed and sleeping it off.

As long as insults, disputes, glass mugs and names are thrown at each other they'll get no where. They'll only be running around in the familiar cage, thrashing themselves against the walls like some mocking, divided prayer for freedom. They don't know this. They don't care, either. But soon they'll run out of road, and Mark doesn't honestly know what he can do when it does.

He doesn't know what he'll do when Mimi finally packs up her stuff and flashes Roger this tired, cruel sort of grin- a grin that only a dying woman can give someone, a woman who sees them pummeling off the edge and has finally decided to let go, before slamming the door so hard that every edge of the loft echoes it and locks it into it's memory. He doesn't know what he'll do when it registers in his mind that Mimi will most probably wake up in Benny's arms, ashamed and disgusted.

He doesn't know what he'll do when Roger rips up several lyrics of songs in anger, collapses on the couch with his guitar and fights off his demons with angry, high strung rock songs. He doesn't know what he'll do when Roger almost flips over a table, yells at him three times and apologizes seven before doing the same reaction he always does- they always did- after a fight. He doesn't know what he'll do when Roger drags himself off to bed and realizes for the first time that he is alone in what feels like a very long time.

Everyday, they surprise themselves with a new, deeper feeling of failure.