the pain we carry • I call him Justin. I saw him flying in love. And then I saw him drunk. Such an innocent face, and such a wonderful boy– drinking. It was the same old story. Found a girl, then the heartbreak, and then the onset of despair. After that the conclusion that loving is of no use. So why not be the playboy? Is he happier now? I don't think so. • Some words of regret I carry within, of little, often ignored things of time. A moment of bitterness, a flash of anger, and the bouts of ugliness. When I'm those things, it's very natural to forget the mortality of us. I never want to but I end up forgetting the temporary-ness of our lives. Of you and me, dissolving into nothingness one day. Whose loss is it if you and me keep recycling the patterns of self sabotage? • Of the rainbow after the rain. Of the warmth of the sun after three cloudy and windy winter days. Why do we miss the rainbows and the warmth sometimes? Are we still bitter because the rain drenched you cold? Or because the winter left you sore? Are we sensible enough to enjoy the view? Or sit simple in the winter sun? Is it that hard to do? • Life never promised you roses. Maybe it offered different thorns. I found myself bleeding on many places, now it's my choice to make one song. Of thorns, of imaginary roses, of words that numb... of unrequited love.
