What if the only reason you’re staying is because he needs you too much? Love is as minimal as certainty and time and patience survives mutually along with the heavy burdens anchoring the relationship. Space, on the other hand, is only for comfort, a void feeding the soul, wide enough for it to breath. Intimacy is a dull assurance that this is not charity work. The other keeps on faking pleasure while the duration of communion shortens as the excitement fades its colors, as heat rests on a pathetic Celsius at room temperature. The future is a remote place where it withholds your ability to vow and to hold it long enough, like the kid’s contests–the longer who held his breath, wins. It later becomes a competition of the most faithful soul, the winner gets to blame the other for being a heartless liar. The past was where love resides and decided not to come along, it was where the movement of water was more understandable, fluid like the days passing and feelings tilting back and forth, but never spilling off the swaying bowl on the balancing scale. The present is where everything crumbles like over-cooked croutons, too dry to even chew, what more to swallow? Love is now reinvented as a lesser choice to make for yourself and your happiness. It happened that today as present not anymore becomes as past tomorrow, rather a cold cycle, a cursed routine that kills the other inside, everyday. While tomorrow, as the future can never be really sure. She keeps on smiling to be strong. She forgot her hand was on his back, rubbing it as he sobs like a helpless little boy got bullied in school or fell of the bike the first time. Sometimes, it just passes, numb and unfeeling like how the next day is going to be.