Her body marks the death of the burden on his shoulders - or do they live forever, remaining unresolved without a physical proof for the possibility of approval for him? She lives in him, scarring the soul that passes on and lives down the generations. I carry the weight till his very last breath of seriousness I depend on, love and detest at the same time. I exhale the same contents, I am doomed to live this life of standards that I inch towards every living moment, perhaps blindly.

21st june is a special date. Regrets will not exist if you live knowing when and what to let go of, and subsequently knowing what would keep you satisfied at the end of each time frame. Living a life to 93 would be impossible for me. 

Being at a distance is fool-proof, the destruction of expectations an artificial source of comfort. When did I start rejecting emotions as much as I do? When I observe her frenzied tears honest with irrationality and weakness. Or humanity.

Reason is functionality that keeps one from the motion of breakage I no longer want to observe. 

The safety lies in being apart.