I cannot recall how many months I have counted from the morning you left me by my window. I surely have continued life with vigor, thinking I have surpassed the torment. I wonder how many times I have rejoiced believing there was nothing wrong with the hollow muscular that pumps blood for me to walk on earth. Heck! It was only yesterday when I found out that there was nothing to rejoice about. In truth, I have not triumphed the harrow of disappointment, which I have cast upon, myself. Somehow, I can opine, how shrinkingly I shied away from the whole affair. Perhaps, this is the price I have to pay for not doing the things my heart wanted me to do, in response to what your heart have gestured. I wouldn't know how to break free from the whole ardor, and pledge to carry on with what the present has to offer. I am clueless as to when I would be unencumbered...will it be when you see me again, as you have promised, or when I see you splinter your words. I don't want to sound like a defeatist, giving up when things are yet to be done, nor an overtly propitious, looking too forward to things that will never be. What then is the incentive for me to go fair-to-middling, when I only have your words as collateral and your sincerety as a guarantor.
You bring me back to tears and I cannot even beg you to wipe those tears away.
You bring me back to my old wound and I cannot ask you to heal them for me.
You bring me back to melancholy and I cannot seek you to make me happy.
You are surely happy now, how can I engage you to the blues you've once have gone through.
I will keep and save everything that has been left,because someday...perhaps soon, fate will bring you back instead of tears which fits to be taken away.
