When there is angel, there is devil, so there is love, there is pain...

The word love has been so loosely used that who ever knows when they really start loving. No offence to those parents that are sweet enough to say "i love you" to their beloved child, but do one really knows the definition of it?

Does love exist when one is urged by lust? Or when one heart is happy and hop-py when it met upon? Once upon a time, when the world out there is fascinating and bright just like a flower started to open up their petals when in bloom, I presume that I love a thing/person when I'm happy and the feeling of bonding cross the heart. Guess I had gown up now.

Things happen now and then, but this time, my heart had this piercing agony of squashing thru the throbbing device that gives one life. When I had it, I never knew it. But when you lose it, you felt it. Scary it might sound but never a Freddy Nightmare... It is just a wake up call that you once loved it.

Tears may not be a justification, but the pain is the truth.