The lamp on my desk bears witness to my futile attempts once again.
I try to spill out in ink what it felt like to be with you. To describe to the world our truly memorable times together. To pen down how a distant fairy tale dream of being in love bloomed into a reality – the depth of which I cannot fathom despite my best efforts.
Where do I start? How do I do justice to the beauty of what we shared? Will I be able to capture the raw essence of it with mere words?
Just when I have scribbled down a few lines, some feeling I cannot comprehend creeps in and derails my train of thoughts, vaporizing every last drop of optimism I was clinging onto.
Something haunts my conscience. Regret? Guilt? I don’t know.
I just cannot write another word. One more day in my life is lost. The bin resting below my desk dutifully welcomes the crumpled ball of paper.
I continue to sit here enveloped by a feeling that is only a bit too familiar. Floating above my head, I can hear the sound of Cupid’s wicked laughter.