we are lacking passion, no doubt. in my little head, i like to blame it on you. couldn't you be more passionate. You'll never fight for me. I resigned myself to that fact a long time ago. I remember when I realized it. The thought hit me like a ton of bricks: You'll never fight for me. I can see you... shrugging... figuring that you ought to let me do whatever makes me happiest. How impassioned is that? If I have to force you to say passionate things, coach you all along... the words are empty, useless, fully lackluster... Remind you of anything?

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