Emotion

The colours of the sky stretched from indigo over all shades of violet to a light yellow, almost gold.
The colour inside her heart was a uniform black.
Inside she fought a battle she wasn't strong enough to admit she had already lost.
She did not speak, but her eyes told a never ending story of loss, of betrayal, of being left behind.
A single tear ran down her face as she drove off into the sunset.

Fierce reaction

Boiling blood. Passionate rage. Disastrous wrath.
Yes, I am the jealous kind of person.

How many people can make me suffer

True love - in my opinion - is not defined as accepting a person as he or she is, but as being glad with the way the person acts and thinks. Not as taking care, but as wanting to take care. Not as forgiving mistakes, but as making the best out of mistakes. Not as simply being there, but as being confided in. Not as feeling forced to show affection, but as feeling grateful to be capable of doing so.

Few people realise how easily they can make me suffer.

Never again

The human being can only endure a certain amout of pain before it breaks apart.

It must never happen again.

"The Scream" by Edvard Munch, my favourite painting

Belief

Religion.
Faith.
Sometimes I envy people wearing a silver cross around their necks proudly showing their faith. I used to believe as well. I want to again. Believe in something bigger than myself, something bigger than manhood. But I can't. I live without belief while at the same time wondering how it feels to keep faith into something other than provable science. I've long forgotten.