'Those who do not remember the past are condemn to repeat it'

The path felt familiar under my feet. Cold, rough, and merciless. Lonely, somber, and bitter. Gone was the sunshine, and back with the dark. I wrapped my hands around myself, shivering slightly at the unyielding chill stirring like a hurricane at my feet.

My eyes felt cold.

My feet felt cold.

My brain felt tired.

My heart, shattered.

But around the broken debris of my pathetic heart lay plasters and scotch tapes, telltale signs of 'I told you so's and history's haunts. My hair lifted off my back and, like tendrils of a dead strangling fig tree, clung onto my neck, my cheek, my face. My head tilted downwards, my eyes seeing without looking at the pieces of red that stained the floor. I closed my eyes on them.

I've numbed.

She smiled.
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Her schoolwork's been piling up lately but she seems to be enjoying it, living life to the very fullest and I don't think anything can stop her now. She's immersing herself fully into her studies, not wanting to really take in her surroundings, not wanting to really care. There really isn't any time left to waste on assuming, speculating of feeling sorry for oneself though it hurts. She knows, she knew, that she of all people should have known that this would've happened sooner or later but somehow, she forgot. Nah. She's not going to say that she's not going to care any longer 'cause it'll just be a lie that's going to put another scar on her heart. Instead, she'll just let it bleed and heal naturally. 'cause mother nature may be one hell of a bitch but, well, she is still 'mother' nature after all. No mother would want to see her child get hurt.

Would she?