thanks for everything,

cause its no cinderella and no prince at this ball. they are just dancing around and around in circles hoping for eternal till the magic broke. stripped off any fantasy, the missus ran away sobbing. how could she have reach this pathetic state again? over and over, she fell into this trench that they so obliviously laid for her. they never know how much it hurts. they couldn't be blame, they never know, then she, the one who knows, let it course towards the same pain. cause no matter how hard she fell each time, the wind always bring her up with whispers of the neverland, those of the fairies and those of the tales of courage. for her, its always hard to reject believing something so wonderful. why would she want to do otherwise, to believe that there's no miracles in life? bed of roses, they called it. little did they know, bed of roses - on the surface, everything seems perfect but the deeper you sink in, the more you will feel the thorns. but if she were to shun them all, her life would be plain, plain as the life of the housemaid cinderella when she lived under her stepsisters. probably thats what fairytales are for, to remind that wonderful and beyond the mind miracles could happen no matter how tough the situation is in that moment. so, she believes.


"I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all."

-- In Memoriam:27, 1850, Alfred Lord Tennyson

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