Tonight I am the ruined fortress, sole compliments of your ego.

Tongues and their irrational swags will not break a single bone, but you not loving me makes the end of my all. You are only here when I've picked up from the fall and it isn't love. I worshipped you. I loved you. Now, I think I'm in love with a man who's inanimate. You think I'm crazy for loving this way, I think you're plain mean to once more enslave me into climbing out of the abyss on my own.

Tonight I am your created Armageddon. I hope my downfalls win you pride.

When lost love embarks on an overhaul, it becomes the bane of existence of memories and its survival. I am not God and shouldn't have placed belief in its places of displacement that there was sufficient storage for more without physical evidence. Reasons, they become the accomplices that we all exploit to relief our impulses of rage every once in a common moon. So memories, they hold me back no further.

So hopefully, it will be a worthwhile toast amidst the curse of flu and all the mending that needs patch works, to singlehood and more meaningful functions of a break up. Bury the hatchets and bid goodbye the yesterdays.

Life resumes, the way the systems have always been running. The stupidity of it all to believe that I would stay safe in your arms forever.

Consequent nights after the ones slept in the solace of your armful bearings ascertain me that as unintended as you may be a presence to my bubble-wrapped facade, there is a you who will always extend a better night that will lead to a better tomorrow. And for this and many other unfathomable reasons, a heart as mine is beats a little strangely, a little faster and crazier and steadily with affirmation, a mind once ruined by cynicism now is ruled by hopes. This night, I picture endearingly in memory, one that remembers you and us this way. With might, I pray to God that this is here to stay.

Goodnight sweetheart. Sail safe and be good.

It is easier to die for someone in the namesake of love, than to be the bigger giver.