I thought perhaps if I let my grip loose it will be easier. I thought I would finally have a moment to breath, to feel no weight on my shoulders. I thought I would be able to lock you away, though I should have known that you are not like the others.

You always manage to turn a good day into bad, a bad day into worse, a worst day into hell. Flipping through pages of diary entries, more than half of the hastily scribbled words traces back to you.

Perhaps I should admit that I am in the deepest of denials, the deepest of regrets, the deepest of stupidity as I stand on the sideline, letting my life go down the drain. If love was a burning fire, then you are the storm that washes away every last piece of aflame flint. If love was a fairytale, then you are definitely not prince charming. There is no once upon a time, let alone ever after; though in my mind our story has played uncountable times. For what have felt like infinite lifetimes, I have forgiven for every ruthless crime, and loved you so vulnerably.

The emotional cutter - the one who fails to let go.
The pretentious good guy - the one who stole her heart.
Where is this piece of broken heart? In that cafe, under that tree or along the paths of the riverside - she she pleads, she dreams, she stares lethargically as nights creep away.