today i cut out about 60 printed pages of our conversations out of my diary.

well, for a practical reason that it was making my diary so fat i can't write in it.

and because it represents a heap of broken promises made by both of us, and when promises are broken, it makes no sense to reminisce about the promises we made.

because they mean nothing anymore. looking at them is but a feeble attempt to grasp at something intangible, a vain catching of the wind and it swirls up and away from us...

and it makes no sense too to ask why do we make promises we can't keep. it's like asking why water sometimes drown us, and why fire burns us up. we're human.


my diary is now cut right down the middle, with jagged edges, left over glue, and it isn't pretty and perfect anymore.

but that's life, and its all the jagged edges that makes it all the more beautiful...




forever. always. perfect love. first and last. till the end.


these are words that should not exist in our vocabulary.

we are but a mist, a thin vapor in the wind... yet we make lofty promises...