Where are you?
Why aren’t you here?
What are you doing?
I would love to pelt down these questions upon you like a vengeful pilot shelling bitterness and rage, but it would be unfair for me to ask of you answers even I cannot provide. Love is never reciprocal, if one seeks such a kind of love, he might as well be seeking for nothing at all. Perhaps I’m blinded by a misery I myself cannot see, and overcome by a pining that has long turned into hate.

God, if you cannot give me health, then I bid you give me sleep. Cos a life like this is too hard to live while awake.