I know I have said this before, that writing does not take the sadness away. Even painting does not take the sadness away. Medication does. But it hasn't made me happy - for long - either.


But even then, everyone's own sadness is their own. Their own splinters in their own hearts. You lean half-way up, staring lightly. I already knew its time for me to hear it out from your mouth yet still my heart-racing breathlessness, hoping that would be just another phrase for me to hug you like we normally do.

You have already clear up your minds, that moment is another shard of glass staked into my heart and feels like so, really and truly. It physically hurts and recovery is extremely painful.

Maybe you just feel guilty for coping this way

I try to be perfect because that is the only way I will be accepted into your world. Every flaw that mars perfection, is a flaw in me and a lethal blow that is very hard for a perfectionist to accept within. I keep feeling like I failed, again, again and again. It is a never ending refrain.

Loves is not measure by how long that period of time , its how we enjoy the process out of it. I don't know, am I right to let go but I knew there is no turning back when you I walked down with you. The usual path that we always walked, the fragrances the things you'd left behind that journey from here.

The usual turn I would always see you lying down there , perfectly in sleep. Indulging in your own worlds , I felt relieves but you still does not belong to here. A place where you would call home, I try to brave the world of normalcy.

But accumulate shards of pain and sadness and failure in my heart.

You was no longer there to accompany me to walk down , the long stairs down and sat underneath the trees but I still could smell that fragrances of yours linger around.

ILYLMS.