Once again I sang a song of love,

a song with burning love,

earth shattering waves of passion,

and heatened description of our bodies clashing together.

As a private show, I sang it to you, my pillow.

This time I slept above India. I like America more...

The morning was harsh, light unrelenting as I wanted to sleep more but you were lying on the floor, had I tossed you there or did you go there willingy?
I wish, it isn't either of them.

The day was spent with my hands idle and mind even more. Not even one thought had crossed my mind when I let my head fall on top of you.
The rhythm of the night surrounded us with steady beat and bass down lown, there was nothing more I could ask for.

The white stain above Cape Horn didn't bug me at all that night.

The next morning could have stayed 'the next one' and not this peculiar morning.... The banging headache and stinging dryness in my throat made me want to crowl on the floor and throw up every little bit of liquid I might have inside... The sweet feeling of bliss from last night had vanished and no matter where I tried to find it, it never came back.

The smell of tobacco and coffee together made the day slighty better. Should I change the curtains to something more....gleeful? Black is kinda unhappy colour.

Cape Horne was clean again this night.

When I woke up, the funny shape of Slovakia greeted me and the smell of my cigarettes was still strong when I sniffed you. This time the morning was more tender than last time. Which I was more than happy. I had ran out of painkillers long ago so no more hangovers, I'm afraid...

That never bothered you anyway. You have strong head, stronger than my heart.

Was Hudson Bay always that big?

You once said that without light there is no darkness, and without darkness there's no light. But if I should turn off the lights, would there be light somewhere? If there is, then call me blind, because I sure don't see any.

I read that Galloway Forest Park is one of the darkest places on earth. Is that odd island Scotland or is it part England?

Why is it always so hard to come up with good lyrics. In good old times, words just flew out of my mouth as I stared at your back, black dark stripes of words forming along your spine, all the way from nect to . Those perfecly shaped muscle packs with something precious and dark hidden between them. Something you never treasured like I did.

I also read that the place in Scotland, is the best to see stars.

Without any pressure form work I could concentrate on you. I dusted the curtains,vacuumed the floors and took the rug outside on our balcony. I almost forgot it there when it started to rain, thank god you reminded me. My mom would be furious if I messed up the beautiful rug your grandmother gave us. That would have been really bad.

I used the soap you recommended to clean the stains around Iceland, they finally left for good.

This time it was me lying on the floor, ache in my neck and back, it sure was rought night. I felt a rush of blood run through my body when I stood up. This, this was good. Thought you were bend over the desk on the other side of the room, it felt good. I could see a dark spot around Alaska, I hope it will go away with soap, my mother will be here tomorrow...

The whole of America was filled with blueish spots...and they sure didn't go away with soap.

It was even darker than usually when I woke up, sweating like a pig and screaming like a castrated cat. The nightmares about you leaving won't stop to haunt me. Night after night the plump clouds of darkness surround me with their hazy wisps of terror and fear, suffocating me in its grasp as I try to claw for breath. It's getting darker and darker...

I heard there's a place where, in summer, sun is always shining. I would very much like to take you there.

This is it, this ing is it! The day I have waited for, weeks after weeks. And finally this day has come forth, the day my life begins.

Once again you sing me a song about your love,

song of a burning love,

earth shattering waves of passion,

and heatened description of bodies clashing together.

As private toy, you treat me like a pillow.

Me:

your strenght,

your passion,

your future,

your history,

your life,

your death,

your lost,

your Victory,

your Maknae,

your Seungri

a pillow for you to hug at nights.

Your and yours only.

We decided to write 'I love you' right in the middle of Atlantic Ocean. I suggested Korea but in the end you won, like always.

My Victory.

My Seungri,

my World.