One

It's 4:56am in the morning now and I just finished my french homework. No, I really wasn't diligently working throughout the night. I had just came home at a very early hour of 3:30am after being out playing all night having a fabulous dinner with friends at a Thai restaurant and catching the premier of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen at midnight.

It was exhilarating and every single shot took my breath away.

I've got not many breaths left to spare now.


But I'm still alive, still breathing, and desperately holding onto my life.
I'm continuously trying to unpick the tightly sewn seams of past memories, every time the repetition of an event, an activity or any past hope, flashes snippets of old faces and old smiles across my eyes. It's so distant I watch it in my head like a silent, colourless motion picture- void of feelings I felt then. It's funny how I feel I don't own those memories and pictures anymore. I don't have to erase them like how most people would want to. No, that takes too much work. Denying my relation to any of those would be less tedious.

One of my favourite authors, Oscar Wilde, said "When a love comes to an end, weaklings cry, efficient ones instantly find another love, and the wise already have one in reserve."
.
.
.

Boys will always be nothing more than toys to me. I'm sorry.