A rendition destroyed.
A composition disforming.
A mistake was made.
A failure was gained.
A regret pondered.
A lesson never taught.
A cosmic orchestration to be repeated over and over again.

A vague description of all that is emptiness, a ghost of an overwhelmingly beautiful goddess.
A man who would come to hate everything, even himself.

The void would be his blessing, the darkness his light, the pain his motive.

Feeling like the **** of the Earth, at the bottom of the gutters. Only me and these tireless feelings of regret and sadness. Only me and my death.
Let's only hope for this so called resurrection, otherwise this is the end of me.

He missed her so much every single hour of the day. He always spoke of her when he had the chance, so much that he was sure that everyone grew tired of hearing him.
But he didn't have a care in the world, so deeply in love that he was certain he would do anything for her. Even die.
She was his dream, his love, his life.

His Sunshine.

The one you truly cared about wants to forget you, not even your shadow will be left to remember. All that ever was you is gone now.
To die from a broken heart truly is the worst death of all.

He always said he didn't dream.