Winter snow

The room, with the thin concrete walls, was engulfed in a blizzard of cold air after she was gone. He had not realized initially, that it was not his threadbare blanket that kept him cozy at nights; but her warm, selfless body of immense light, holding him, heating him.

Life is a cruel master sometimes as we toil through the days, sometimes met with insurmountable pain. Life brandishes its whip of a hundred sins, inflicting us with these bright red wounds. Its not the castigation of pain to flesh that torments us, but the consequences we all face after the blood has run dry.

He knelt on the cold, unfeeling floor, in a plea hidden by the four walls closing in on his guilt. Face buried in the pillow, he caught a faint trace of her scent. It smells like cherry blossoms and a tinge of regret in the winter snow.

Her smell was light, breezy, but definitely evoking.

It was a night of heavy winter. She wore a beautiful summer dress with floral prints, had her hair in a loose chignon. Picnic basket in her hand, she went. The lake was frozen over, with only a fishing hole dug out for the villagers to get their food. It wasn’t a big cavity, but it was big enough for her.

Basket down, sitting calmly on the thick ice, it was a picturesque facade. Yet below, the lake was murmuring, sing to the tune of the relentless howls of wind.

A tear slid down her porcelain cheek, the only trail of warmth in the unspeakable weather. Humming, smiling, crying, she flung herself down into the watery abyss, the footprint of her scent scattered through the daunting cold.

Like a snowflake that meandered down a lonely stream, it dissipated to become one with the fluid, forming just another star in the vast universe.

A villager found the basket the next day when the winds have died down, along with her demise. There were two perfectly cut ham and cheese sandwiches, a bottle of wine, and a note that wrote:

“It was summer when you first said you loved me. And I wish, summer never went away.” 





I think everyone has contemplated the intricate allure of death, if not many, at least once in their lives. We first enter this world, like a silken cloth, free from marring, from pollutants, from desecration. As we age, we start to grow. The growth of our physique may give our age away, but this aesthetic form; is just a mere facade, is it not?

At different phases of life, we birth many desires; some strange, some childish, some ridiculous. But in most phases of our life, we crave love.

That is one thing humans will never stop wanting. 

I reminisce sometimes, with a tinge of abhorrence, and pangs of disgust the one boy in my life that I spent 2 years of my life thinking he was what love really was about.

How wrong was I?

I am sure you have felt this before, your palms sweating, heart racing when the phone rings with a text from him. You schedule your every day around his ups and abouts, keeping time free and skipping your meals just to wait for his casual “Wanna meet for dinner?” You talk relentlessly to your friends about him, how cute he’d look in this 500$ shirt you just bought for him, and spend your days thinking of how to doll up better so he can finally say “you look nice.” (But obviously i never had the luxury to hear that from him.)

I have chased that guy, not only in a bid to get together with him, but also literally. Chased him down the streets publicly calling his name, tears strewn amok my cheeks, begging him to stop, but hell I wasn’t much of a runner but I sure was determined as fuck. What was I even chasing him for? What was I sorry about? Nothing. Evidently, I was sorry because that’s what he wanted to hear. I was chasing him because that was what he wanted to see.

My sister brought his name up again once during dinner days ago. She was laughing and joking about how amusing it is when I, the pathetic girl so madly in “love” with him, was mopping the floor with tears wetting the ground faster than the mop could do its work. I can, at that point, understood from her point of view, how comical it was. But the girl I once was, was so remotely shattered it felt like I died so many times over.

I remember that day, he had blocked me on all media. And back in those days there WEREN’T many platforms you could talk to someone on. He wanted a break up, for the millionth time, because he was in army and he has gotten bored of this plain jane with a flat chest who loved him so much, she gave him everything. With nothing left to offer.

The bed… felt like a coffin, with the ceiling closing in onto me. The computer was the devil’s advocate, whispering for me to do something crazy. And the window….. let’s not even go there.

So I tried to busy myself. I grabbed the mop and started cleaning like crazy. But this sadness it just wouldn’t leave me. And it felt like all purpose of living, all purpose of ME, myself, has forsaken me. If I could cry my heart out, that must have been that day I finally see how mine looks like.

But fast forward to 7 years till today, I finally realized that wasn’t love. I let him hang around even though he has “broken up” with me just because he wanted a quick outlet for sexual pleasures while I stupidly thought the physical contact could bring us closer on the emotional plane where he clearly didn’t want to co exist with me in.

If you are reading this and you find yourself in a similar situation, know your worth. It may be hard for you to leave, I tried a thousand times. But when he leaves, death is never the option.

Let me tell you what love is. Love is when you hold him close, for the 10000th time, but your heart doesn’t flutter. It calms. 



Keep fighting.


If I could manipulate elements, time & space, matter, even;

I want not to save the world, but to put you in a little glass dome.

You can have it filled with crystalline snow that billows, dancing to the cold, singing with the howling wind. Fear not my love. Think not of it as fearsome as The Shining. I’ll make you feel warmth where the prick from ice would be. Fashion you a castle made of only the sturdiest from the frozen kingdom. Wolves will litter at your feet, for you to play or to kill. Crystal maidens will wait on you, presenting nothing but egregious robes and hot food. The nation will celebrate your beauty and my unyielding love for you, bitter like frost, undaunted.

Or even, laze eternally by the beach whose horizon can’t be fathomed. Endless waves, always sunny. I’ll conjure seashells of the finest, most exotic patterns, but none as amazing as you. I’ll make the mermaids sing of my love for you, in their hauntingly sweet melody. The crabs and lobsters, all sumptuous crustaceans line up to queue for their noble deaths upon a merry flame, served smoking hot on your golden plate. So that you, my queen, can have the freshest harvest still piquant of the roaring salty waves.

If you want it mythical, there’s nothing my imagination will stop at just for a smile across your porcelain face. Unicorns will prance for you, glistening in the sunlight with their majestic manes, sparkling like how they should be. The forest green and lush, sings a secret rhyme, wildflowers will wave at you with glee. Your footsteps will sprout endless cycles of spring – Of magnolias, roses, tall looming trees even. You will be the giver of life. Just like how you are, like my syncopated breath. I’d throw in a Snow White fantasy if you’d even just whisper for it. Rabbits, deer and the great grizzly bear; they will keep you company in happy banter. You will never be alone.

How about a New York city dream, the poshest penthouse in Manhattan. All that glitters awaits in a walk in wardrobe. Ceiling to floor windows that grant intoxicating view of the skyline, guarded by sweeping curtains of the finest silk and linen. Do you indulge in books? For I can bring stories of the entire universe to you. Everyday you can find yourself catapulting to a different time and place, all within the papyrus skimmed through your fingertips.  I can give you the entire city, if apple is your favorite fruit. A fancy car to tour the city, Maserati, Lamborghini or would you prefer a Ferrari?  I hope you like Need for speed.

The list would go on. But I’ll save that for later. Because its 5.58 and in 2 minutes you will walk in to the diner and pour me the coffee that I am waiting for… And I, will clutch the cup firmly, hoping for a brisk touch of your slender fingers.

Guess what I found

Was tidying my room. Chanced upon one of the earlier journals I kept. I keep one every year. Some survived through my mum’s gigantic purge of “unnecessary household items” but not all are so lucky.




Seems my teenage adolescent pain was pretty unbearable and I think I can pretty much still remember how it felt.

Nonetheless the sorrow did not go wasted I guess I managed to channel it through the literature aspect. lolol

Here’s one of my favorites:


I am an angel, i wield a halo, a facade
My words they are magic, an immaculate art
I am a goddess, I define beauty
My movements are sex – erotic and pretty.

I am a temptress, a lubricious desire,
My touch unleashes, your lewd denial
I am the world, passion is my pawn
My eyes are like a weapon, a deceptive con.

I am an abstract, I delude conscience,
My heart abuses truth, and words so vicious.
I am an extreme, between love and hatred,
Females antagonists, whilst males are patriots.

I am a treachery, a betrayal of love,
philandering in blood, a motto I serve
I am, mere mortal, yet not
Delude the truth, if truth be sought.


Don’t we all miss that all so familiar childhood bullying. Not sure what led me to write this though. HAHA.

Anyway I managed to revamp my room! Will come up with a post once the curtain is done. Have a good week ahead.

Sorrow dues


Hello readers. I have something that I want you guys to watch. I think the Chinese will be familiar with this song. Irregardless, for those who have not heard this song, give it a go.

Here is the English translation for my Non-chi readers 🙂


You stopped in your tracks, on the street we are both familiar with.

And read out the speech you have prepared in your head

我還在逞強 說著謊
I’m still putting on a front, I’m still lying.

也沒能力遮擋 你去的方向
However I have no means to stop you… from the direction you wish to go

But I guess… at least I graciously let you go

After which, I still choose to stop by that road

Wishing and hoping, that I could bump into you on the other street.

思念在逞強 不肯忘
My heart is unwilling to forget the memories

怪我沒能力跟隨 你去的方向
I blame myself for being so weak, failing to follow the path you went on.

若越愛越被動 越要落落大方
The more we love, the more gracious we have to me.

你還要我怎樣 要怎樣
What else do you want from me.. what else??

Your sudden Text to me was enough to break me.

我沒能力遺忘 你不用提醒我
Its impossible for me to forget. So there’s no need to remind me

I guess this is the end.

我還能怎樣 能怎樣
What else do you want from me.. what else??

In the end, I still got the role of a heartbroken lover.

你從來不會想 我何必這樣
You have never thought of why am I this way.

Gradually, I began to move on and get back to living.

My heart slowly, accepted new candidates

愛你到最後 不痛不癢
I loved you, till the end, till it reached a neutral state. It doesnt hurt, I no longer crave.

留言在計較 誰愛過一場
We still exchanged texts, debating who was the one who really loved.

我剩下一張 沒後悔的模樣
The only expression on my face of which, is a stoic one, with no regrets.

你還要我怎樣 要怎樣
What else do you want from me.. what else??

I beg you please, don’t show up at my wedding.

我聽完你愛的歌 就上了車
I got in the car after listening to the song you love

It was worth loving you

我不要你怎樣 沒怎樣
I don’t want anything else from you. No need for anything.

Just don’t forget the journeys we went on together

因為那是我 最快樂的時光
Because those, were the happiest times of my life.

My life after you.. I guess is still quite alright

At least I didn’t end up being lonely because of you.

有一天晚上 夢一場
I had a dream.. one night

你白髮蒼蒼 說帶我流浪
You had long, white hair, and you beckoned me to roam with you

我還是沒猶豫 就隨你去天堂
As like before, with no hesitation, I followed you….. to heaven.

不管能怎樣 我能陪你到天亮
Regardless…. of whatever… I can accompany you till daybreak.


For you literature idiots this song is about a man whose love of his life left him. But he felt that if you truly love someone, you have to let her go even if you don’t want to. He spent his entire life loving her, kept in his heart are memories of them, the happiest he ever had.

The woman still texts him randomly, to argue that she may have loved him more/or telling him she was the one who really loved. But she never really thought about it from his point of view.

He still held no regrets loving her, and kept this love until it no longer hurt, until it becomes no longer a wound, he simply just lived with it.

He begged her please don’t come around his wedding because he knows in his heart, it still belongs to her. Even until he became old, the last dream he had was her, the image of an old woman, with her hand out, asking him to follow her.

With no hesitation of course, he followed her to heaven. (Meaning he fucking died brah)
But can you imagine, even before he died, his last vision was still her.

He spent his whole life loving her, and died still loving her.
I just can’t. One of the youtube comments spoke exactly what I felt:

> 這心要受多少傷才能寫出的歌

It means, how hurt, how much pain did this heart endure to be able for the person to write such a song?

Its like you can feel the pain. because its so real, so relatable. And I doubt people who feel the same as me can listen to it without tearing up. But I literally burst into tears.
I hope you guys enjoy this emo nemo episode. I will return with a short prose inspired by this song. Let me know your thoughts about this song!






















Ebony and carnal desires

He was marched into the large palace, where pillars loomed into majestic view in their finest marbling and gold shimmer.

And there she was, perched on her divine throne, with two lions side by side. The carpet woven with gold seemed to stretch on endlessly as he made his way right in front of her, where he stood, clearly besotted with her heavenly beauty.

“Are you not going to kneel, before me?” She spoke, the words played like music on a well tuned harp. Her eyes were so beguiling, they sparkled like glowing amber. Her hair was slightly tousled, and perfectly ebony. Her skin was pale as the first snow, so fair that she glistened.

Her gown was a mere white silken cloth, fashioned into a dress held together by a braid. The scarce fabric revealed her ample bosom, which was still taut and ripe despite having no support beneath it.

The cleavage split beautifully like a carved divergent; a smirk snaked across her face as she caught him feasting on the sight before him.

Moments later, the words finally got registered in his brain. He bowed his head in embarrassment from having such a vulgar stare. The guards retreated as he dropped his knees to the sacred ground, right before her.

His head was still hung low.

“What is your name, mortal?” She stared down, clearly amused by his guilt of unintentional contempt, instead of taking offence.

“I… I am Edgar, your highness.” He spoke softly with a slight tremble in between.

“You can call me Vera.”

Edgar looked up slowly, as though afraid he was unable to handle the sight before him. The goddess stood up, drapes falling gracefully into place, shielding her modesty.

She reached out her left hand, waiting for him to offer his palm. Edgar rushed up the pedestal and helped her down the steps.

“Do you know why you are here, Edgar?” The goddess’s tiny hand rested on his outstretched one. He was trembling subtly, as though afraid with any greater force, his burly movements may shatter her like porcelain.

He shook his head in reply. heart thudding brutally against his chest.

Vera smiled, a smile so enchanting that even the grim reaper will drop his scythe.










La muerte del corazón


I witnessed myself die today. An illogical, irrational kind of death. 

It wasn’t exactly quiet because I was choked in tears before that, but right when my heart goes into cardiac arrest, yes. Everything froze. I clutched my heart as though the pain was physical.

In fact right at that moment I wished it was physical. I wanted it to be something that I could either treat at the doctor’s, or something that I could physically die from. But it wasn’t.

It was the worst kind of death. My heart wasn’t lain to rest. It just remained in its stricken state, plagued by such emotional epilepsy that wouldn’t seem to leave even after my heart was rendered motionless.

If breathing wasn’t voluntary, I believe it would have stopped too. Since a long time ago, I have asked myself; How do you describe a heartache?

There really isn’t an answer because this pain; this torment is so ineffable.

There are different kinds of love. But this kind of love, as I have experienced in my course of life, albeit still inexperienced; hurts the longest and cuts the deepest – When you lose yourself loving someone, only to realize that person no longer loves you.

It was a slow death. Eating away at your soul, and then finally, when your skin is tender from the gradual peeling, when your heart is knocked senseless, the sharp knife comes at you from the shadows.

You feel back flow of blood cascading, gushing past the valves. Your eyes widen with shock as the control of all 5 senses abandon you in a split second.

Immobility; and then the aftershock kicks your tear glands to an overdrive. The tears cloud your vision and you crumble into a pile, Fetal position, as though in meek attempt to protect your heart.

He has left. for good.

And what’s the worst? “The things belonging to me at your house, you can do whatever you want with it.”

But I loved you. And I think, I will be for a long long time.



Hello, I’m fine

The frosted malt ice cream stood grandly in the middle of the table. It was a bustling Saturday night at Rocky’s cafe. Babies cried at deafening decibels and scathing clatter of cutlery mashed against the beats of Westlife blasting through the stereo.

But I was only staring into his eyes. Those impossibly enchanting eyes. They were brown as anything, but I swear when he smiled, it was iridescent like poetry to a color wheel.

He was no longer wearing the jet black hoodie that he always donned when we met, but that infamous round neck cotton tee (that I have gotten used to removing, mostly) still snuggled firmly against his body like a risque parade. I detected faint tones of his Hugo cologne, but I resisted that acknowledgement of the evoking familiarity.

Because my pupils will dilate more than it already has, and my heart will race like a blazing steed.

I took my seat opposite him, shoving my bag into the corner. I was careful not to sit right within the perimeters of his frame, as much as my OCD screamed internally.

“Hey…. How have you been?” He broke into a warm, happy smile, the one he wore when he first held my hand. When he first kissed my cheeks. The smile that was nothing but trouble.

“Hello, I’m fine. Where’s Leila?” I smiled back at him, the same one I gave when I let him step right in.

Right into my heart only to watch him destroy it.

“She’s reaching anytime soon.” came his reply, in a well practiced sprightly tone. He dug the long sundae spoon into the chocolaty goodness, breaking apart the brown slush as if attempting to break the awkwardness.

“Hey!!! Sorry, I’m late.” Leila took her seat beside him. The seat that was supposed to be mine. Her arm went around his biceps, little pinky sticking out. Yes, you didn’t have to do that; I can see that flashing diamond ring from a million miles away.

And so, in the middle of a family restaurant, we began the most ironic discussion ever.

“Nick and I have decided that its best to give you a monthly allowance because it is only right. And after its over, the amount as previously agreed. On top of that, I have signed up for this tonic package from Barrett’s, which will be delivered right to your door on the 4th of every month. I just want to thank you again. I am really, really grateful you have no idea.” Tears rolled down her eyes.

I smiled again, letting her voice just penetrate every cell of my body, intoxicating me like a druggie’s syringe.

And so that 20 minutes of excruciating pain ended. I finally allowed myself to take one long, unabashed stare into his eyes on pretext of saying goodbye; took my bag, the envelope and then left.

Where do I begin? I am such a mess. It all started with that innocuous texts, the late night chats and my remotely naive brain.

The fibers of my bedsheets seem to still carry memory of his body, naked, against mine. I remember that night when we first fell in love, how my fingers tingled as they danced against his biceps. He was quavering in sheer delight. He lowered his head, lips searching for mine. As our tongues fought, I was gently laid onto my bed. His hands moved like magic, as though wanting to conquer every part of my body. I was rendered helpless. My bra straps slid off my shoulders as though anticipating his voracious venture.

He grabbed my breasts, knowing just the right pressure as his fingers worked on my already taut nipples. That was only when we stopped kissing as he pulled his face an inch away from mine, giving that smile, before reaching out to the left breast whose bud cried to be basted. He cocooned against me while he sucked and flicked with such expertise that I felt my nether region blushing, moistening with desire.

His hips rocked against mine, as his erection teased through the thin fabric of his berms against my bare skin. I intuitively stretched out for the zip, wanting to feel his warmth. My body was so tensed, my lips trembled as I bit on them, wanting to appear less euphoric than I really was.

He then raised my legs up, kneeling down and heaved them over his shoulders. I felt his breath against my clitoris as he dived, attempting to devour it with his lips. The intensity of his nibbling was balanced out by his perpetual licks. His left hand was still occupied with my breast, kneading with fury, whilst his right hand joined in the party right where his tongue was.

Two fingers in, he located my sweet spot and brewed up an ecstatic frenzy.  My moans were reverberating throughout the room as adrenaline shot through the roof.

I meekly grabbed his hair as I feel myself weakening. The orgasm built up within me like a hot air balloon. I fought to breathe as my organs no longer seem to function. I whispered his name, relishing the every flick of his tongue, the coarseness of his fingers rubbing against the inside. I was so wet, a puddle formed right at the entrance of my labia. And then it finally exploded.

I came as fervent waves surged through me like ripples in a tidal wave. He then took me in a heartbeat, thrusting in so hard that I was unable to scream. He lifted my legs up, wanting to me to take in all of him. The rhythm went in sync with my cries and our heartbeats as he went harder and faster.

He was pulsating so hard, it was like a tap dance to my bloodstream. He then bent over, hands ravaging my breasts in a hot, hot hunger. He then whispered “I love you so very much.”. Thinking back now, I figured it was just the effects of overwhelming lust.

He then kissed me again, hot sweaty body grazed mine as he pounded exponentially, and then finally, with 3 hard thrusts, he spilled all over inside of me, his groans granting goosebumps across my skin.

He smiled again, giving a satisfied smirk this time whilst my entire body smarted from the overly good sex. I slumped against the pillow, momentarily paralyzed in sheer attenuation.

It must have been the oxytocin because we cuddled afterwards, all the way till dawn.


I snapped out of that stupid reminiscence. I plodded into the toilet, popped a vitamin pill and lied down flat on my bed.

3 god damn months…. I patted my lower abdomen subconsciously. 3 fucking months of carrying this labor of love, 6 months into thinking I was the luckiest woman alive and he told me he was married with a barren wife.

That very day when those words left his lips, I felt my heart died.

Why did he even bother to stage all that play? The dating, the flirting and the roses every time we met. The little acts of nibbling on my ears, playing with my hair and those special gazes that seem construct an entire universe in just one second. Just tell me straight “Hi, I need your womb, not your fucking stupid heart.”

I am the fool, for not wanting to give up on this child. But its innocent. And so was I. But he wasn’t.

I remember when I held the knife, pressing against my already visibly swollen belly. His
“I love you, baby. I had no choice” was on repeat like a recorder. I saw him cry. He threw his fucking wedding ring out of the window and tried to convince me to drop the knife.

To bear the baby for him because he loves me and not his wife.

How can anyone be stupider than me to believe it was an external insemination? I remember first looking at Leila with a hint of pity.

Surely? In the 20th century you are telling me an ancient Chinese folklore of arranged marriage and deep antagonism?

But I relented. I was stupid, but I rather be stupid than a murderer. My heart was traded for nothing but a would be full 9 months of grueling pain, both physical and emotional. And a scar that will shadow me forever.

Can I actually survive that? I looked at the envelope I left on the desk. I opened it and the crisp cheque slipped out, onto the duvet. I wanted to tear it apart, right down the middle. I wanted to scream and ram my stomach against a pickaxe in sheer rashness.

I want to cut open my skull, mash up my brains with a sledge hammer and then zip it back up. For probably being the stupidest woman in the world.

But, I couldn’t stop myself from loving him. And everytime when my hand goes over my belly, pain and love collide in startling copiousness. In inundation of helplessness and anger.

I want my baby, no, their baby to grow up happy and at least know that it was made with so much love, albeit full of disdain and a tinge of abhorrence, but never once, regret.

I’m fine. I will be. Because sometimes in life, love kills, but creates anew. And we just have to deal with being the one with the shorter end of the stick.













poetic sorrow.

Letter to his next gf:

Please remember to make him coffee every night after work, he likes it with a spoonful (or less) of sugar and it has to be with milk.

He likes head massages, not to hard, slightly ticklish.

I hope you buy him 2 tangoes and ward mid for him. Hes so good with invoker, you’d never want to watch anyone else again.

He likes you to wait for him at home as he comes back from work; give him a hug and don’t let him eat too much macdonalds.

Ferrero Rocher is kind of like the most convenient chocolate that he likes. Buy him plenty because he gobbles everything.

Nuzzle his cheeks and kiss his lips because they are so soft. He’ll love it.

He loves to sleep. But he’ll love to lie beside you whilst you do your stuff. Just be quiet as he is a light sleeper.

Always shower him with praises, because he always think lowly of himself.

I hope you’ll shower him with plenty of patience, love and understanding because he isn’t a social creature. He will keep things in his heart and just drown in his own negative emotions if you don’t ask him over and over again. He’s very insecure but extremely observant, so he knows what you’re thinking and feeling even without you saying it. Watch his Chinese dramas with him, it’ll make him happy. Cuddle him to sleep because he’s a snuggler. Don’t engage in infidelity.. you will really break his heart. And lastly, don’t ever buy him branded stuff. Buy him computer gadgets or steam credits. 😉

I can promise you, if you give him all of the above, he will be the best boyfriend you’ll ever have.

Sadly, fate has it that our affinity has to end. So I hope you can love him more than I had.


Emptiness seeps in, a relentless trickle,
like death, with his unforgiving sickle.
I wished to unlive, yet at hell’s door,
Satan whispered “Living will torment you more.”

It was that one, of a thousand roses,
that pricked me with such lethal doses.
With our dying waltz, as tears clouded,
I tore his thorns out of skin that smarted.

Was it not, poison that tainted my lung?
The fumes exhaled, of his beauty I sung,
Why had it to be, two in a tragedy,
One to move on, the other with no remedy.

Did we all choose to be in love with pain,
or was it that love definitely came
With one full jug and one bottomless jar,
And the acquiescent heart for the fuller to mar.

Blogging on a sad Saturday night. With the empty room, not even Lycan by my side. Oh… sorrow. Sometimes pain hurts so much we sink into a masochistic thirst for more.

I hope you will always be happy.

heartbreaking notions

I don’t know where to start. The words simply clump up in my throat, like the withered leaves that clog around the drain during a sad, lonely day in fall. The night has finally arrived; the night where all notions of the breakup that we are facing shall be put to an end. I have to do it, don’t I?

I watched you while you were sleeping on the couch in the living room just now. It’s probably the 100000th time you told me not to wake you up so that we can sleep together on my bed. Our bed. Said because you find it a hassle to wake up just to shift back into the room when you have to wake by 6.30.

I stared for really long, mind you. I knelt down and ruffled your hair, took a sniff and a long, lovely gaze. You smell just the way I imagined, the familiar scent that envelops me when we cuddle. It reminds me of our love; the one we had a long long time ago until our problems outweighed it.

But… it’s going to be the first time I will obey that instruction that you gave. I will learn how not to be soft hearted again, how to not be so clingy; how to finally learn to get through a night where we lie so near, yet our hearts are miles apart.

There are many things I wanted you to know. However, right now, I can only wish that in the future, the thoughts will finally dawn upon you.

People always say its childish, to make a big deal out of who wins or loses in a relationship. But how is that childish? You’ve really defeated me hands down. Your bitter castigation, your passive aggression and all the moves that you have remotely outplayed me of. I guess, I am quite the loser, having gone down without a fight. I just allow myself to cry and mope over my own weakness. I actually fully embraced the gaping difference in our intelligence, the disparity of emotional detachment and then mock myself wryly.

What was that triumph card you held? The one that you held proudly over your head whilst we stood, divided, on the fragmented mounds of our broken relationship – It was simply the fact that you made everything seemed like it was my fault.

The best part; is the fact that I know you aren’t happy or anything. You are heartbreakingly sad. Probably just as sad as I am. It’s just that you simply had to do whatever you did to make yourself feel better about it. It’s almost as if you wanted to hurt me to ensure that I am hurting as much as you are.

I remember I tried to leave A alot of times. Until my friends were sick of me saying “Hey I swear i’m gonna leave him for good” and it never happens.

Why is this still happening? I realized I never actually matured in the sense of love. Am I a masochist? Right now I think there’s no denying it. Yes I guess I do fall into that pathetic stereotypical group of girls who simply love the pain.

Has it occurred to you that maybe I love you very fucking much for me to cry with burning humiliation in front of my sister, my friends and the public?

And in that 1 year 5 months of knowing me has it occurred to you that I do in fact love my pride alot, and I love you so fucking much that I allowed you to step on it like some shitty little cockroach fighting for life?

When I tugged at your arm, when my voice became so small because my eyes were choked with tears. When I ran out of ways to get across to you, to beg you to stop, when I started crying hysterically, kneeling on the floor, slamming my exasperated fists into the wall and onto the bed….

Has it occurred to you how much I love you?

We both know what the root of the problem is. – That we simply just don’t suit each other. But yes our hearts more than often enjoys disconnecting from our brains and in turn we act on the desires of our hearts.

I am sorry that I can’t be the kind of girl you want, the docile, feminine ideal wife material. A part of me is, but it’s not enough for you. You want me to be destitute of emotions, of my needs, of my wants, my hopes and dreams.

It’s kind of like a parasite. You want me to latch onto your dreams, your happiness, your well-being and derive my own lifeline from there.

Yes, you need a coffee; Honey let me get that for you right away. Are you hungry? Yes i will cook the noodles for you, in your style, your way. Sorry, did I put too much water? Please, finish the terrible noodles i cooked… I will do better next time. I am in the mood for sex, but oh you are tired, yes of course dear its normal for you to reject me, because I am not as attractive as the girls you look at on facebook. Oh wait what? I am napping but you are in the mood for sex. Yes of course honey, I will let you fuck me anytime you want to, because its a rare commodity. Even harder than getting a mythical bundle in dota2. Sorry, I know I look like a fucking gangster with the way I talk, so uncouth, unlike a girl. I am sorry that my conversations with my friends bore you. I see your phone is always on your hand whenever we are out. Yes I went out with a guy for dinner, because I stopped trying to make my life to revolve around you. Oh wait what do you mean you don’t remember the time where I made sure every appointment I had stops before 6.30 so that I can be at where you’d be after work? The waitress was so rude to me! But yes sorry baby I am just being a bitch when I tried to reason for better customer service. I should shut up and do my own reflections as to why she gave me bad service. Yes that guy likes me. I am sorry that I am such a whore, talking to him and all. I know its wrong for me to seek solace in other people when you left me crying for several nights. I am sorry I can get so horny just by someone speaking good english to me, and also, masturbating so much that the porn site is on my most frequented chrome tab. Oh you mean you are pretty sure I have been fucking around. Yes god damn I have been. Maybe that’s the reason why I still unabashedly ask you for sex. and crying after having been rejected by you. GOD. speaking of which yes you can’t stand my sarcasm nor my attitude. But why yes of course I can tolerate yours, after all you only show me attitude because I have done something extremely wrong, being the unreasonable slut that I am.

I guess I am indeed a very childish, very needy, and extremely whorish person. All I can say is, I really tried.

But I really can’t do it. I wonder about that every day. Does that make me a failure? A bad girlfriend? My emotions and my wants and needs have broken free and gone out of hand. My eyes are tired of being the most frequented emotional outlet. My hands are sore from the countless times I plummeted the various surfaces. And my heart…. is so so empty.

It doesn’t really matter what the world thinks, What I think. Most importantly, its what YOU think. I am shit-assed godforsaken kind of terrible in your eyes.

But I love you. I really do. And we both know that I love you enough to let you go.

I have to let you go. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be.

Just grit our teeth, let me be the one to finally set the ravages of our love on fire. We get through the notions… and we’ll survive.

And then you’ll be happier. So much happier.

And I will probably still love you through all of that.