Published: November 5, 2009

Didn’t know what to say or do anymore. I was left there, at the end of

the road, at the final note of my song. Had nowhere to turn, nothing

to look forward to, and not a muscle in my face that wished to smile.

My time was almost done, and I needed a quick decision. Do I go on?

Sorry, romanticism, but I’ve had my fair share with your happy liking.

I rang the 2PM bell, I let the road’s path be turned into a thick

forest and I let my poor song finish. I was left there without a

breath, without a wit and without reason for my injustice, letting the

wick of my candle to burn down to its final wax. Then I remembered

you. I remembered your smell and your touch. Your laugh and your

charm. I remembered why I had started the song in the first place and,

then, why the song ended. If you would have came back to me within my

final minute, the moment which my soul so anxiously awaited its

departure from my worn down body—I would have stayed longer. But

you never came back. I had no choice but to allow my own evils to kill

me.