She was cursed to live for a decade, and she's already nine. Nine years of battling an enemy, fighting a war she cannot win. Terminally ill, stricken with cancer since birth, she remains the epitome of postitivity, letting not the fact that the end of her road is near bother her. She faces each day with joy and perseverance, and accepts graciously the hand that fate had dealt her. She makes friends, even befriending the most sullen, destitute, anti-social person she's ever came across through her short but brilliant life......................

Fucking deja vu.

That was from the House M.D [Season 2 Episode 2 - Autopsy]

I hate shows that remind me of the past.
I turn on the tv, randomly, and i see something that pulled the nerve of my heart, yanked it right out so hard that i could only convulsed in pain as i swam in the darkened memories long forgotten, but ever present.
Knowing you've lost something that took the place of your heart for a rapturously brief moment of time fucking hurts when you've finally lost it.
No amount of preparation could've prepared you for that.
Stirring so much pain within when you remember it again.
I hate shows that remind me of my past.


This was a repost from last year's blog.
In memory.

Now.
Somehow... i couldn't cry anymore.
Why oh why?
Letting people come close to me for me to open up and let them in, only to tear them away once they have taken root so deep in my heart that it breaks my soul into pieces when you yank it out.
The idea of a sick joke?
And i knew this was coming. It was inevitable. But knowing is not the same as coming to terms with it. And i never will.
I don't want to walk down the corridor, seeing that empty bed with that pale white sheet draped across a lifeless body that once housed someone that could have turned the world around. Like a desecration, a plain white sheet so mundanely signified the end of her life, when her life was more than plain, more than just white. She colored her life with the most vibrant colours, did the bravest and most outrageous things, touched the hearts of all around her. And yet above it all, she maintained her purity of soul, even when death was staring at her straight in the face; she laughed. Waving it aside, and with what limited life she had left, shone with such a ferocity that in the end she was so bright to look at, but everyone basked willingly, safe in the sanctuary she provided for every tortured spirit. She should have been the one to be comforted, yet she reached out to all the others.
I wish it was me instead of her. For she would have done so much better with this life than me.
All in vain, in naught, in denial.
And now...
I can't cry anymore. I don't know why.
But the grief.... the grief. So painful.
So damn painful.