It always starts with you these days. And if you’re reading this, then perhaps you’re having them, too. We’re doing the things we once did when we were in that state of mind when things were just fine. Before all the betrayal. Before the goodbyes. Before the darkness sank within our eyes, filling our hearts with a taste so foreign, so real that we wanted it more and more like a drug – our crack pipe love affair between our fingers while our lighters burned the cool tips, enraging them. Sing me a camp fire song, love. Sing the words softly into my ears while the seagulls soar above and the waves crash into the stony shores. We always start here, by the gulf…