I was in love, in love with a serene phase. I was happy that my tears were my inspiration to write something new everyday. I kissed the paper everyday and let my words live in it. Everything my mind made up then made sense somehow, but know question my own existence. The love faded soon, for I treated it like a phase, and then a new phase came that I am still dwelling into. It was not pleasant, for I felt the words trapped into me are not being released, the feelings caged into me are not being felt. The pen lost it's home, the paper was never kissed after then. Like the...