It's Over

Future is always seem to be something that is unpredictable, uncontrollable, yet, each and every one is carrying a heart filled with hope and looking forward to it; countless effort is laid for its arrival, predictions are made to predict the unpredictable, plans are designed in hope to control the uncontrollable. 

Tomorrow is the end of August and would be the end of the torn-covered stem of the rose that I'm holding; I have found out that the rose in my palm is tied to a sharp knife, which left a red trail within me. Supposedly, my heart would be burning up, without any exceptions. That was what I thought as well until I found the exception yesterday, where the flame is put off by the heavy rain, just like the weather today.

The tar-covered road in front seems to be darker in colour, not to mention the continuous roofs of the houses lining in a row. My sight was running along them, every block of houses, every inch of road, from the window in my room. Never ever, I has my mind so caught up by them. Perhaps it's because I'm too used to it, too used to it until I have neglected them without even realizing it, just like her.

God cried quite heavily today, but God's tears usually is being cherished or in another word, God sheds His tears to nourish this earth. And I wonder, why our tears will not be cherished when they drop? What use of our tears? These...I believe most will have the answer. Then, I start to envy Him, for He could do something I wished I could; I know that it is not worthy for anyone to shed even one drop of tears for someone who doesn't love him or her anymore, I realize that but it's just that it's impossible for me to keep up with the logic side all the time, seeing and evaluating the worthiness of everything in life.

With that silence conversation lies within, I could see myself standing out in the middle of the road that I was staring at, facing a direction; the road in front is just like the houses beside it, there's an ending of them, which it ends up in a junction in front of another row of houses. It's clear that I should move on, take the first step in front but I just couldn't help myself but to look behind, seeing countless images and pictures, hearing countless records filled with laughter and tears, finally, a big picture of us talking on the phone at the midnight, discussing about our actions if we ever break up; the words, sentences that made up the very conversation are clearly carved on the limestone of memory.

I know whatever I do, however long I soak myself in this pool of tears will not change anything now. I felt regret and remorse for one whole month, even at this very moment, these feelings are still strong. It has ended and she is holding the hand of another guy...an unwanted picture which drew by my own conscious. 

The crystallized pictures of us have shattered into pieces, right beneath my feet. All along, it is in my conscious that this journey would not ended up in Rome, as the saying "all roads lead to Rome". And all along, people are shouting, pointing and telling me about the existence of the stop sign. Why then? Why would I continue? Let's just say I'm a fool, who take part in an idiotic story, hoping that it will turn out to be something like fairytale, with happy ending...

My fingers are opening up, losing the grip. The rose falls, along with the knife tied as its tail. Slowly, I lifted that hand of mine. Slowly, I stared at my bruised palm. And finally, my eyes become wet. Finally, they reach to my feeling. One drop of tears dropped on to that palm of mine, I could feel the sting, as well as the cold temperature of the drop. 

Then, I lifted up my head to take a look at the sky; everyone is up there, cheering for me, putting out their hand to pull me out of this road... Their smiles, their supports, their existences and their effort to build me a exit, mean very much to me; I appreciate each and every one of them, seriously, I do. 

"Thank you."

I bended down. Slowly, I gathered and picked up those pictures we took. Unfortunately, some of them are stained with red. The rose is being picked up as well. And with the rose more tightly held in one hand, pictures in another, I take a step forward, leaving the spot, continuing my journey. 

Step by step, walking towards the end of this road... Step by step, walking towards the end of the houses... Step by step, leaving the stretched out hands of my friends. And step by step, towards the junction in front.