I hated crying. I hated it. I was tired of it. So I stopped. I stared emptily in front of me, looking at nothing at all. I sat. Then, I thought about sex. Then, I cried again.
There was nothing to be done. Nothing could be done. What should've been done was not done. Could've, would've, should've, but wasn't done. Nothing at all, nothing could be done. Nothing... was to be done.