Please forgive me. I will not be broadcasting the usual effusive programme. I am trying to deal with my perspective of love and death, solo. My trusting nature is waning. I am no longer so flippant when my words are thrown back at me. They are more than just sounds, or text, or letters. Every time, it was a little of me I was giving to you. No more. Although you do not need to be gentle, the underbelly will stay protected. I want someone to tell me that love is dissimilar to lightning; tell me it can strike the same place twice?