Separated by fate.

Separated by time.

Separated by a thousand years.

There are days when I still dream. There are days when I still have flashbacks of the past, the painful past that haunts me and excruciates my conscious mind. I’ve visited many doctors and psychologists, but I did not tell them my account. I cannot tell them. For one, they’ll immediately judge me to be an insane, delusional adult, and possibly send me to a mental hospital for severe treatments.

But a more crucial reason is: I made a promise. I made a promise to myself. I made a promise to myself that I will never let go of something that is a part of me, and only part of me. I cannot break that promise I made to myself, nor can I stand the emotional collapse as I tear a piece of a figment from the abyss of my memories and leave it in the hands of those unrelated to the occurrence.

Those memories are special to me. Those memories are painful to me; it agonizes me to recall them.

I have decided to not destroy those memories completely, because I still want to reminisce certain moments, certain moments that I still find worthy to treasure, worthy to preserve.

It was not an entirely fruitless experience.

I saw clouds of audaciousness.

I witnessed trees of accord.

I smelled blood of power.

I felt the tears of magnolias.