Strange how obscured emotions find their routes of languid escape out within the most feeble situations one encounters. How the evenness of an aesthetic and affable bond could just miraculously morph from something so poignant and sentimental to utter ashes and sheer remnants. As if tolerating what was left in the aftermath of the over-idealistic turmoil of feelings was vain, like we’ve lost the most petite inkling of wish that anything would posthumously resurrect from the mass of havoc we’d committed. How what was once envisaged as the elite romanticism was abruptly wrecked down into pure odiousness, and the flashbacks of the burgeoning seconds we’d shared have altered from blissful chants and euphonies to potent and intolerable rackets. How I was satirically under the magic of your saccharine smiles and illusory touches. How callow and naïve you’ve turned the sage prudence inside me. How I deplore each and every moment I’d calamitously worn out with you.


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