Since then, I have lost my senses. Lead by sensibilities, I have wandered away too much. And if you look into the night and thought once of a year ago, even then, you won't even come close to the darkness I am in. If writing was not enough, I apologise. If paper was not enough, tear it into shreds. I no longer want to relive the memory, but your voice is a a tad too much. I can't block it out. I can't stop thinking. Let me be.

But you know, it was my first attempt at a sonnet, my last form of communication with you.

15 weeks to go... how cam I going to survive this

Fall

Everything felt like the wind today, fleeting, but real and all I want to do was to take shelter near a warm fireplace where there would be protection. It wouldn't stop blowing though, the wind kept on blowing and it just got colder and there was no where to go. 

Exeunt Petrarch

Finis.

Such a shame

I wrote a poem about you. 

I don't suppose it will be seen again. 

Perhaps, I like you. 

But, perhaps, 

I like writing poems. 

Just a title

That I bring myself to care, 

Never have I been faced with compelling reasons not to. 

Just you wait. Go on this way and one day you'll be out in the streets.

Don't call me your ... 

To be fair

it's completely justifiable.

If I were the world and everyone else, I would not want me to exist.
But then again, even I do not want me to exist.