..and so it is.

Finally called it off.

And to the act of desertion, of which no one is to blame entirely for all things to fall apart, I know I had it coming, knew it all to well. I'm not too sure if it'd hit me totally just yet, I am feeling strangely calm and composed, or which at least, I'd expect myself to throw a tantrum, or at least I thought I would feel my heart pumping so hard that it would just literally jump out of my skin. But non of it.

Gosh, one year and I am standing right there to see the bane of it, and yet there is so little I could do to save it. Honestly though, I almost feel like I've shed an unbearable weight off my shoulder, finally being able to catch a breather from the feeling of living on the edge, almost every minute of it. But soon as I've finally said this, I could feel one forging just right about now, slowly creeping onto my shoulder again. I hated the process, it sucked, and it hurts like hell. It's almost like when you feel that you are just about to get out of a dark tunnel and into the light, only to find yourself at the beginning of another one.

Really, I am so afraid to go to bed tonight because I know that as soon as I close my eyes, depression is going to find it's way into me and it's going to plague my entire system the next day. It might have given me nightmares too, or I'd wake up to a train-wreck. I'm not too sure, but I am definitely not anticipating the possibility of waking up in piles of relationship debris, and there is so much to clean up when there's work to be done, when there's life to live on. Ah, there goes again, the process of putting up a fake smile for everyone like life is perfectly beautiful, when in reality I just wished everyone would just fuck the hell out of my face. Perfect.

And so it hurts, and it hurts deeper, and it gets better, and then it gets worst again, but seriously, just how bad can it get? I am yet to find out. But now, I need to keep moving - to just keep moving and leave it behind a little at a time.

All I know, when a heart's broken, carrying on bravely is the easiest thing to do.

After all, it's just another chronicles of a broken Beaker.

The things they say about him.

Burning candles glow stillness, melted ire and let-downs. Quietly, you flipped your book full of words printed on the warm aesthetic of the brownish paper. Held firmly in your left hand and being read in dim flickering light. It's the mysteries of powerless, it's almost primal. Was it really this easy, and simple for you. How could you have remained so clam, in the moment of utter kerfuffle.

Do you have a reminder for me, perhaps the leaves of silvery green would fall, and yet the night before, had the outlines of shrubs and towering trees gathered underneath the ghostly shapes of high clouds dim and illuminating. Have I been here before? Perhaps it was the sense of your presence and that strange warm sense of commonality.

And every time I think about it, my palms would sweat and my heart would squabble. At times, I would leave everything in disguise. Little pieces of torn up promises scattered across forlorn memories, flown and warbles into the dark skies above. Many questions left unanswered, much like yesterdays crosswords, despondent of filling in today.

Would you still dazzle, in your little world, when blood smeared on your face, when the light goes off, would you think about me? Would you gaze in the sun looking for the spotless dream, tampered within it's shell, basked in despair, tarnished in your pain and mangled in your great fears.

I still dream of you all the time. It started and stopped, started and stopped, like an endless loop, it was always the same but different, much like how everything looked the same in vivid blurry. I still talk to you, but only in dreams. I would forget what I said, but I knew I did. I could only reach you in my dreams, and it's the only time I feel real, and the only chance to find what I am looking for. And a dream is just a dream, it's as close as I could get to you.

At 4:51am, you quietly flipped to a newly unread page.

At 4:52am, when I woke up, the dream was over, and you were gone.

And so were we.

I still think about you everyday, I really do. Baffled by our existence, ringing the common buzz, still, I never understood why had to moon rose before the sun went down. Still I never understood why did you leave before we even get there.

Nothing's changed.

I never really understood why they hated you so much.

I remember you used to come home drunk, and you would yell at everyone in sight. I remember that particular evening when dad slammed his fist on the table and threw a fork so hard on the floor when we were having dinner. I remember mom would take my hand and lead me upstairs whenever you wasn't being you. I also remember that time I excitedly ran to tell my dad you just broke the door handle again. I remember grandma were so angry at you because you refuse to sell the land when the offer was just too tempting to reject.

Since we moved out, dad never really speak of you, occasionally mum would tell me what she heard from aunt. I heard you stopped drinking. I heard you stopped yelling. You were so angry, I was just too afraid to talk to you.

What's changed since?

Why did grandaunt still ask dad if uncle Alfred had forgiven you?, why did grandaunt and still hope that uncle Alfred would attend your funeral? Why did grandma try to stop everyone from going to your funeral?

Why does aunt still dress like a whore to your funeral? Why does aunt still lament about the past when you're already in the casket? Why did dad still go to your funeral and help you with all the arrangements?

What's changed since?

Why do we still weep when we watch the machine slowly pull you into the chamber? Why do we still practice all the rituals to send you away?

What's changed since?

Nothing.

It had been seven days since you left.

Nothing has changed

Grand uncle passed away on 18th July 2007