Ignition

Her last note

I used to think that life is as easy as a fashion show. 

I thought all I need to do is to look good, raise my chin up, show everyone that I'm one hell of a great piece of art despite knowing how ugly I feel or look whenever I'm alone, give everyone a good show, make them all proud by the things I could do without hesitation, make them all amazed by the difficult things I could do without complaining and be an inspiration, make people believe that everything is easy enough if you just embrace it and continue to walk carefully with grace until you reach the end but now I'm fairly certain that it is not.

I used to walk on either red carpet or pathways filled with scintillating roses but now, I miserably sail in seas of abominable bereavement like a voracious buccaneer in search for a treasure...

A treasure called love.

Love. Some aphorism states that love is a plant of the most tender kind that shrinks and shakes with every ruffling wind--but never dies.. while for me it's just simply a rose that grows in concrete gardens, beautiful and fragrant yet forlorn- which I do not deserve.

Because no matter what I did, the people I love...left.

So I sit spinning still, around this decaying form, covered with fine threads of miserable thoughts along with swish of rope in which I bind myself into and rings of chain where I lock myself behind concrete walls I swear not to be broken nor climbed by anyone.

Not even him, whose voice was envenomed melody and smile whose to me was wine.

Therefore I went forth with hope and fear into the wintry forest of my life. In my heart's temple I suspend these votive wreaths of withered memory.. of him, of us. So, in this dimmer room which most people call life, I decide to flee. For life is the night with its dream-visions teeming, and death is the only waking day for a wild flower such as me.