I said you'd never fathom.

I exchanged a hefty lot of smses today. I think it's impressive.

But unlike the previous time I made this statement, instead of feeling like I am such fortunate to have found him, I feel like Titanic. That night, that fateful night, I had blood rushed to my face, head ached, heaved a deep breath and made a choice; muttered Yes. I was skeptical. I was hurt, but yet I trust, I believe. How Time can prove difference... I guess I would never fathom how the ticking hands work, the changing fortunes of time. But I know hurt, pain and melancholy. I know my naiveness, my gulibility to be too trustful of others that I have to, time and time again, placed my happiness in the hands of the others'. My heart broke within fragments again and again. There's only a hollow box not knowing how and what to feel, just pumping blood, just keeping me breathing and alive. What was said, what was done, what had happened during this period and what had caused things to evolved to the way they are today? Perhaps God should have been kinder to me. To show me the hidden tragedies of everything that had been exchanged and conveyed before I caught myself all tied up in this web. I got out of it once, got lifted, thinking that there is, he might be, he most probably would be because he is ethereal, genuine, sincere and honourable. Yet... yet...

Are there still provocative arguments to the way we are today? If there is none, it means the end. A closure in which I do not wish to believe that it is there, because it's Faith you guided me to, it's Our Story you promised. I am no longer the light on the dark side of you because you chose to deny the light that I shine. I am not your rose which hits your gloom on your grey because you are no longer a greying tower alone on the sea. And the more you get of me, it doesn't feel stranger because you don't wish to choose me to be a growing addiction you can't deny. And this is irking you like tiny little poison molecules trying to burst themselves out through every running veins within your body, your soul. When you decided to throw everything away, did you even look back?

I want you to be my final tree. The final one I would seek shelter under and solace within because I believe you have whatever it takes to be superior albeit the difference in age: two years junior. The maturity I had thought you possessed, that you are wise enough to know what you are saying, what you were saying, what you are doing, what you had done. Time proves difference. I have yet again become a murder victim of the Time's homicide. I can't say you don't lie. Because whatever way you put it, whichever way words are going to be exchanged, it would just prove you did, you do, inevitably, one way or another.

Depths of bittersweet melancholy

why do we shed tears of sorrow,

albeit the knowledge we would be stronger,

days and days after tomorrow?

To be strong, we need to be selfish, perhaps narcissistic to some extent. To be always placing ourseleves amongst centers of others, to be always placing ourselves before others. We do not care nor worry about others' pain, nor the lonely nights they have to deal with alone. We would have our own flare and flamboyance with people to be concerned with. The way we want to portray ourselves to so many whom we wish to own for a momentary period of time, for a spur. The way we would want to talk, to attract the attention in order to fill up the voids of insecurities within. The attention gained somehow, brings us up to another level which we would eventually think, yes, this is real, the way I want to feel, the way I want to own who I wish to own, this is real. This is me.

"...for the world is full of trickery.But let this not blind you to what virtue there is...

...be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass."

-Max Ehrmann's Desiderata