One cuppa coffee lying on my desk, grey-rimmed glasses by it`s side, letting my naked eyes staring right at the PC screen, I rolled up my sleeves, gently placing both my keyboard and the PC closer to my eyes. Wanting to make a point to myself after a few clumsy weeks have gone by. Ere the hand of time reaches a brand-new day, I find myself confidently situated in my own well-being. That is, being in my mid 20s, in matrimonial of single-ness, discerning with a head of glossy dark and black long hair, maneuvering my every thin and slender-looking finger, while my naturally pink lips are in-sync with the music being played. I say to myself, maybe this is a blessing from God to me. Maybe this loneliness was meant to be. Maybe everything was meant to be beautiful, like the blessing from heavenly Father, and that meaning of being beautiful no longer pertains itself in anyway visible to my eyes. I had been so blind to see that the sickness called love was coming my way, so untangled to it that my untamed wild heart didn`t even move one muscle of strength. Along with that, my courage gave way to too much unnecessary emotions of which are capable of victimizing my fancy poor soul.
That day, that afternoon, that hour of the daylight, that moment was and is precious. Not because it was the last time I ever saw you in real life, but because it was the last time I ever felt the way you made me felt. It was but a horrible act of selfish-ness, both of us. After that day, every second, every minute turned into a day of 365 hours, absolutely out of normal time perception. In my perception of time and life, everything gyrates out of my focus, I was but a dejected figure propped against the sitting place where we last used to be. Now that time has gone by so long, that moment of being precious no longer deprives me of my breath, it is now only a beautiful picture in my mind for which I am the sole audience.
Once the feeling of losing something from my life re-surfaces, my mind has already created a picture of how it is for me. The picture everytime I had when I felt that way is always the same. Every detail in it is painted beautifully. Just like right now, every word, every line I type is gracefully thought and easily let go of. No longer holding to any of past`s myths and legends of the thing called love for which my soul was weakened but not harkened. Being as grateful as I can be or should be, knowing that my heart is strengthened from my unforgiving mistake or loss or missteps or whatever it is. Be it so, love, should always stays beautifully.