Everything has a start and an end. I would say that my life started off well enough but it did not end properly for me. I’ve been on my own all this time, a shadow among living humans, still trying to write my own ending. Perhaps now I have finally found a way to my closure?

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I’ve always been different. I see things people don’t.  Dead people to be exact. They say that it’s a gift but I’ll say I can still live well or maybe better off without it. Sometimes I try to help out, depending on their wishes. Not because I’m being extra helpful but out of sympathy.

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I paint him when I miss him. The drooping eyebrows, his delicate features and the expression behind his eyes. It has always been a way for me to keep him by my side all this years. So that he is not forgotten. But lately, I find myself slowly starting to forget little details of him. His voice is now just a ghost of my memory. Time is slowly but certainly eating up my memories of him. What I have left now are these paintings and the scattered fragments of him in my mind for me to hold on  to, desperately. I often wonder how things would have ended up for him if we had not met each other. This is all my fault. Please forgive me. 

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A/N : I hope the foreword is not confusing.It is actually point-of-views of different characters.  The story would most likely be a longer one than Intersections. I actually spent a longer time thinking of a suitable title instead of writing the story. And I still think that there is a better title for it. Anyways, I will stick with this one for now :P