A Diary to Myself

 It's been a whole year since my grandpa passed away. I was rather devastated during that time, when everything was crushing and colliding right before me, torturing my seemingly mature yet essentially naive heart.

I can still remember those nights, when darkness descended from horizon beyond, I lay languidly onto a king-size bed, crossing hands beneath head, eyes staring onto the lime-white ceiling in flashes of lights passed from outside, thinking nothing but metaphysics--death, love, life and all the things that elude yet attract the best minds of human. During the time of misery, all my life was filled with pain, the bereavement that seemed unbearable, the distress of breaking up with someone you cherished, and vowed to dedicate my life to guarantee whose happiness, and the tragedy of bone fracture of my beloved mother, who just lost her father.

I have already got used to sufferings. It is not a saying proclaiming my proud of tackling miseries, nor it is a clue hinting my calamitous life--for all what I want to say, it could be saying stating the inner peace.

Now I finally found some light in the endless darkness, something tangible in the void of nothingness, an angle of some sorts, more perhaps a female otter. How I wish I could make the light, the tangible a permanent residence! The poem I transcribed is of some tragic and poetic ending. I fancy the last verse yet never thought of the possibility of it being true. It may. Even the slightest notion of this could be heard with the sound of breaking porcelain, or some thing similar, a broken heart.

I believe I can withstand all darkness, the lost of all hope.

There will be light, there will be light.