a death, on their day.

today is the big day for them. after being separated for longer than she expected, they finally got back together. it's their reunion. it's their day. it's their everything they could ever hope for.

and today, green with envy, he turned into the green-eyed monster. he was torturing himself more than he can take. being a sour grape would be an understatement to him. he is more than a sore loser. tonight, he couldn't swallow his pride and do nothing about it.

the only place for him tonight is on his very own corner. undisturbed and unseen, it is the only place he felt comfortable when he is stuck. the place where he tortures himself with his own hurtful thoughts. the only place where he finds solace amidst his own anger and depression.

there and then, thoughts began to flash through his mind. wild imagination and hurtful truths fill his mind. within minutes, he began to feel the disappointment building up within. his throat choking, he began to pen down his thoughts. he wrote in stanzas, in paragraphs, in phrases, in forms which belittles grammar.

he began to wander off in his thoughts. his fingers still moving deftly, unmoved by his own thoughts. on a paragraph, he wrote,

"what are you doing today? are you looking at the birds chirping happily across the silver-white clouds? or are you already lying on the meadow whispering things unheard to others to his ears? what are your adventures today? traveling with him to the mountains, enjoying the scenery at the peak? exploring the dark, damp caves with pure excitement and filled with adrenaline? or are you caught in his arms on the blueberry bushes?"

he became bitter. his thoughts are poisoning him and he began to scribble. the walls became his canvas. he began to paint by pouring his emotions onto the canvas. his scribbles unrecognizable. his pen-strokes messed up. he was no longer expressing, he was no longer thinking. he became an uncontrollable monster. his own thoughts, his emotions, his feelings became his master.

it was already dawn when he stop. he was satisfied with his masterpiece. very much indeed. he knew it was time for him to free himself from the emotions. he knew he needed to take control of himself again.

a death, on their day.

the walls were filled with scribbles that nobody can possibly understand. but in his anger and agony, he wrote;

"if only i can be by your side, unseen by him,
if only i can be with you, unnoticed by him,
if only i can touch your heart, unfelt by him.

if only... you saw,
if only... you noticed,
if only... you felt... Me."