Once, I had seen
a small piece of the fallen sun
before me.
In my hesitation in reaching out,
it was breaking away, ere I could.


Time was a predestined torture
that passed by excruciatingly, slowly;
a tapestry woven by storms
and nightmares
and the miseries of every waking moments.


I watch the falling rain,
poetic and beautiful,
and willed it to wash away
the hurt of memories, of past.

Random stuff I wrote as it poured on throughout the day, while I contemplated about this... end.

Rewatched Weiss Kreuz for the nth time, and realized once more just how well It's Too Late fits the weather.

I also learnt just how little I remember of the past years. Ironic, really, I was so surprised...