Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

I'm only a part of what still remains - a ghost of our glorious discontent and decadence.

After the break-up, after my spirit broke, I'm reduced to a fresh pulp ready for carnage. I'm nothing but a broken rock now, continuously hammered and pounded by pain. Now, it's just me and my painful remembering. Seems like I'm living transiently in this plane of existence - somewhat here but not really here, somewhat absent but not quite also.

Every time I think of you I go deeper and deeper into the abyss, nearer and nearer to the fiery gates of hell. Every passing second, I'm free-falling through nothingness and emptiness, lamenting to a lost love, living in the past, dying in the moment, cursing and cursing and cursing...

It appears the drugs don't work anymore. It can't ease the hurt. It can't erase the dimwit emotions. I can't make myself numb. The pain of longing, like a leech, simply would not go away. It seems these pills - paracetamols, ibuprofens, prozacs, and sleeping pills - scattered in my room, can't cure a person who is irremediably broken for life.

Perhaps, the hardest part of letting go is holding on.

Perhaps, this painful remembering and this madness are all just illusions of fragments of my wild imagination. But every time I slap my face, I feel hot blood rushing through my veins. So I guess I'm not imagining things. This is for real, the pain and my melancholy. This proves that I'm not living in an absurd world after all, where supermans have no kryptonites.

Nature has its own ways of letting us suckers feel the full brunt of reality. Masochistic it may sound but this is the truth. Nature drowns us always in our worst. And we, while drowning in our own misery, while hanging on to our dear life, are constantly gasping for air, finding a lending hand, asking for help. But it seems no one would dare to go to that lonely ocean of our and rescue us. And as time goes on, we'll soon realize that it's only we who could save ourselves from drowning, that we must help ourselves get out of that ocean, and that we should never trust our lives to others. Nature is a merciless bully, but she is one heck of a teacher.

I don't know what lies ahead of me.

It's pitiful that I'm reduced to a lonely, sentimental, beat-up being after the break-up; asking what went wrong all day; thinking of all the uncertainties and myriads of possibilities.

One thing is for sure though: when I reach rock bottom, there is no way but up.