"There were days I forced myself to write over the sentiments I once confessed, about the same rain I heard before, touching a twinge I once devoted to lyrics you poorly vocalize, subjecting the feeling when you carried me on your back under the same ceiling, the last phone call you hang up that left my eyes as soggy as a windshield glows and about how your eyes become galaxies I get lost in. I forced myself to narrate an unnecessary fiction when I wished to have a coffee on the window instead. To write something vague and uncertain future when I missed the window to watch the bluest sky. I forced a pen to give me better shades of our downcast-weaved story. I forced myself to scribble—all because you ran away without pulling one on the shelf of stories, I made for you. You handed me a pen instead of an umbrella under the unstoppable downpour. You let me hear the bridge alone that made me feel a little lost. You let me see the fate resting on your back that I once wished to be you. You hang the phone over a leading-off conversation when still giggling over a wine. And to write because I found my favorite constellation in your glimmering eyes of hope. It was all forced because I thought you were forcing it too—for us to be fated to each other. All the bluest skies just faded as fast as my coffee's meringue. All sheets wasted and inked by traceable erasures of the undesigned story of us. And all the things coming from force never been succeeded."
NB. Awarded with most exaggerated wordings.20th entry. Violet Journal.
