It has ended.
And as usual, the ending was unexpected. The goodbye was long-drawn, only to be marked by an exclamation mark that can never be understood. In the end, it was ourselves that mattered--not the other, not the us, but the ME, the I.
There is no hope now in any resolution, since there is no point now in understanding. The failure to understand is key to how this whole situation collapsed. Yes, there now exists a Damocles's sword in her life, by my courtesy, but am i all to blame for the creation of such a terror?
I can only blame myself for being stupid--for failing to see the signs and for allowing myself to be mesmerized by mirages. I am love's fool, and i don't like it at all. If there's any hope in redemption, my existence shall dictate what kind of hope really matters. As of now, i am numb.
The old feeling, the ancient emotion of strange serenity, has come over me. I want to be angry, but there's no point in vexing myself. I want to feel loved, but there's no point in believing such abstraction that hurts more than real objects.
I want to feel dead, but i am really alive, made conscious by this numbness.
Is there any need to cry? I really do not know. I just think that there's no point in grieving over being made stupid. Actually, there's more point in taking vengeance.
All things have been made clear. If questions exist... well, they need to be scrapped.