Its arrival will be ushered with a drizzly morning, accompanied by Dad's greatest traditional century egg porridge, followed by the family gathering around the bar for brunch. The day would be one with Mum doesn't mention divorce of the implying of it, and with Dad asking Mum if she wanted more porridge. He would refill her emptied bowl and pour her a sweet cup of coffee. Specialty married couples' brew. Jerome would join us for an afternoon at church for mass. We would all receive communion together. And after mass, we would drive our way to a loving afternoon at a park, flying kites and hopes. It would be filled with laughter, love, purity and concern. When the skies turned a deep navy, we would take a stroll to the nearest restaurant that served traditional Cantonese dimsum. We would talk about the past - a past of lovely Sundays and meaningful endeavours, a past of pretty remembrances that led to a pretty present, a beautiful past that continued to this day.

A perfect day.

Nobody may ever read this but I know God has re-read it a few billion times by the time I put a stop to this sentence.

Hope and faith are invisible forces of positivity that takes us to greater heights. Hope and faith; I've got a bit left now, but that's really good enough at this point. Maybe some day, this picture wouldn't just be a dream. Just maybe.

I've made myself give up on things that truly mattered to me far too many times to remember how frequently happy I was. I've made myself let go of relationships that made me doubt love and its genuity. I've almost allowed myself to walk out on you when the bad times felt too overwhelming. But love, my dear J, kept me going. I'm still here. My future with you spells vague and unsure, but I do want one with you. I want to hold onto the fight to keep love ablaze.

I want to perfect what has been imperfect in my life, with you.