No one writes about the cookies that accompanies the tea.

They sit around the circle which was suppose to make them free.

It is wide and empty in circles unlike a warm cup that fills.

So life is like this cookie in front of me.

Renj

You greeted me today, rarely that ever happens. So what exactly do you want when you left your song behind? What do you have to offer or come to take this time. Without a heart, I can be candid to accommodate.

I know you can keep me even if it is just for the interim, that would be good enough. At least I would be kept in contemplation of attachment lest carnage.

I dared you to prove the contrary but you failed. You are just like the masses. You could not remain. You moved in accordance to my script, I didn't had to do much to chase you away into your next season of summer. Disregard what you did not know; I was this close in returning.

When your fidelity expired that became the finality of everything.

What is your drug tonight? I've chose Leftose & Paracetamol. They sound like reputable names for pleasant advocates whom compels comfort to the mind and body. It is acting up faster than I thought. My eyes flicker as it tries to stay conscious, sprawled out on my working space lies my provisions to write you out.

Your silence magnified your dishonesty, you were afraid your words would give you away. That was why I could never read you. I was dancing with your lies.

As my pen scratches the surface of fine paper, I make an attempt to will myself to breathe. I've been holding my breath all this while since you destroyed me, fearing the intake of air would shatter my remnants.

But it didn't. I'm still here.

Writing.

Still.

This is profane. He sought out my words and the offer was far too intriguing to resist.

So I wrote:-

I'm not backing out if you have to know.

I have nothing to offer as my soul is sold.

I cannot promise you anything for everything I own is fleeting and cold.

These should had been my spoken words but I cannot seem to find them when all I can see is your back facing me; So when.

Will you turn around for me.

We were discussing about a scene and I would fancy reenacting it in real life; Let's tweak the ending a bit. You the tracker and I, your victim. Our meeting would be my death. I wouldn't mind a bit. Being dead to the world. At least there is an end and finality to everything. In your hands that is. Beautiful.

Again I have to profess.

My fragility wasn't your fault.