With every cough, it’s as if the sins of past are coming to haunt me.
With every smile, the lie manifests as the mask sinks deeper.
With every inhale, I wonder how long the body is going to hold up with every form of self destruction.

I’m so scared that I am getting ahead of myself again. Days with you, despite the gloomy weather, the draining paperwork, my laughs have not been this real for as long as I can recall. Your messy tousled hair, your cheeky remarks, perhaps it is not your intention, but it has caught every piece of my attention. You brought out the best in me, the part of me that I thought I have lost, the girl that was carefree, the girl that dreamt, that hoped, the girl that was happy, regardless of how heavy the monsoon rain was pouring down.

This is most likely to be too subjective coming from me, but I am allowing myself to flourish these thoughts of imagination because you are not like the rest of them. I will not even try to get over you, because you will always have your own chapter in my life. You will not be forgotten, I will not even attempt to destroy memories with you, no matter how painful this story ends.

You are not just another guy. I am not just another girl.
This is not a love story, but a story of love.