Life is the light of a candle that illuminates a dark room, but as time passes, it slowly dims and fades until it eventually expires completely. I guess the trick is to see as much as you can while the flame still flickers before your eyes. Unfortunately, I feel like I have spent most of my time with my head under the blankets wondering who lit the goddamned candle.

If only love’s death came equipped with a morphine drip, I could forget the permanence of words like “goodbye”. The pain caused by memories would fade like a dream, and each time it resurfaced, I’d get my dosage again.