It is always easier to write about darkness, madness, and anger. It is easier to write in loneliness and sorrow. It is easier to be brokenhearted and painted mute colors. Sometimes, channeling deepest darkness and countless sorrow is good for a boost for your next artsy project. Besides, all the greatest love song is made from brokenhearted tale.

But I’m going to stop there, because like me, you already know when to stop.

In an empty dark room, when no one had come. With empty table and a lot of chairs. I sat down hours before the sun rose or the light turned on. It usually doesn’t take that long.

There were memories about nonsense talking and senseless laughing. But when you look around this time, no sound would be heard. As if we are all putting our ear bud on. Faded music vividly heard once or twice. And our attempt to revive the surrounding feeling would have come to sour. There’s this bunch of new people coming up. Occupying large portion of the neighborhood. I’ve seen this before somewhere. I remember this feeling before.

The last time, I was the one who left. Now, it’s the other way around. It doesn’t feel that bad. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel at all.