Hannibal Lecter’s Whore, Blog of

so it’s you again. haven’t seen you for aeons. but how come you still look the same? you still wear that sad smile that i always find unexplainably handsome. in my imaginations, i always lose myself staring at the perfect crescent of your lips, and your close-to-perfect set of teeth. you smile, yes, but why are your eyes not smiling? there must be a void you’ve always wanted to fill up.

you frown, and there is something in your frowns and deep furrows that makes me feel like i am actually seeing someone, something divine. and you know what? it makes me want to be a deity just because of that, though i know i’ll never be…

so it’s you again. it has been a very long time, yet i feel like everything was just yesterday. i remember the very sound of my sobs and hiccups, and every tear that rolls down my cheeks is for a reason i couldn’t put into words. i remember when you left, and it was though the sun had vanished possibly for good, and that she was now condemned to stand wet and naked in the icy air.

but it’s you again. i knew it. i knew this day would come. i even think i dreamed all these into life. but the sad thing is, yesterdays will always be yesterdays, and memoirs shall always remain memoirs.

remember The Butterfly Effect? now i feel like Kutcher, and i realized it must have been hard for him to unexpectedly see the love of his life down the busy metropolitan streets — walking without realizing how much Kutcher had actually sacrificed for her.

i’d certainly would prefer not meeting you in the first place. at least, i wouldn’t long for someone that is not supposed to be mine…

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