無

Something you just can't forget: your first kiss, being touched by someone you love, the promise you made but broke, or songs that you couldn't sing but always automatically appear in your mind when you're upset, mad, and sad. Those stuff made what you are. You are no made of great stuff, my dear. But thousands of trifling things are.

But what do we get? I mean from these. I don't get it. I really don't get it. We live, we die. Is to love and being loved truly the reason why we are here? At least that's what I was told, the only reason worth living. But how come my love never come, or why love seems so hurt at people?

Cloudy day, today.