Her trend into depression and novelly romantic clichés drifts me along when I'm with her during our short and very infrequent evenings by the sea, under the stars. That's the reason for my sadness and state of beeing. It is also then that she untangles upon me her personal ego bursting method which gets a grip of some things positive in me she just nails to the floor and climbs upon, leaving me behind, the person underneath ("that doesn't know where to go", ref.: "Dial-A-Cliché", by Morrissey).