The grounds of the airport breed a sickened plunging fondness and reluctance. The stop everyday at Tanah Merah cringes me in the pits of the emptiness of my stomach every morning and for that minute my eyes block out from its horizons, with the phobia once upon a time that was bounded at Kallang's stop. Surrealism seems to familiarize its way into daily probabilities and this abstract way of living will nurture to feel comfortable.

I am happy and scared. You make me happy despite the thousands that distant us physically. I remember us this way.

I love you.