di dalam memori ketika aku peduli.

I turned of the paper, and there he is, sat on a full page photograph while holding a cup of latte he got from that coffe shop at the background of the photo. He seems quite happy with big-ass smile at his face. I wonder, why sipping a cup of coffe in the morning seems so fun. I wonder what’s on his mind, after all that he did long ago, when I thought the center of the world is him. Turned out I’m such a dumbass bitch thinking bout such thing. He used to be so cute and caring, and daring. It’s always fun talking to you at that time. No matter what you say, what you did, every story you told. Every day you were living is so full of life that I’d drown in your laughter and smile. I crafted it on my skull, the way you handed over the milkshake you bought on that fast food restaurant to me, the way you teased your friend, The way you talking about friendship, and love. It’s like, with you, I felt like the world is created just for our laughter. I fell for your charm. I fell for your enourmous taste of music. I fell for your ridiculously awesome puns. And then that happened. I shouldn’t ever ask that. I shouldn’t ever throw the bait. If we weren’t dating at that time, I’m sure we will ended up together when I reached my 20, till death do us apart. Oh the irony, then you cheated for your ex, you do make me cry a river at that time. It’s funny tho, I actually know that deep in your heart, you love her. Just her. There might be a tiny bit space for me there, apa gunanya? Entahlah. For wasting your time, bersama fans yang perhatian, mungkin, aku. At the end of my 3rd year of highschool, I know what love is like. Love is when I cried a river for someone yang bahkan a tiniest bit pun, aku, never cross his mind. Eventho I knew that, I still standup with proud full on my chest and yell, “I felt the butterfly, I love you so, please leave her already, be mine once again”. Then I cried again. A lot. Knowing, that will never ever happened. A year pass by, you left your ex, for someone much better, not me ofcourse. And I felt totally nothing. I mean, sure it bothered me a bit, but what the hell, I don’t gave a friggin fuck. Knowing how much of a scumbag steve you are. I might gone to your wedding if you married your ex, and be genuinely happy for both of you, you know, since you guys love each other and look perfectly together. But the fact that you actually leave her, after you choose her over me, for someone else who might be much better(according to you). It’s such an awfull thing to do, don’t you think? True, you’re such a greedy bastard. Ah, you’re also an arrogant bastard. I don’t hate you at all, but yeah, you’re a douche.

"Owen Skarpness, seeker of truth in a world of absurdity."

i found this in quora, good story, great writing style.

I was engaged once to a girl I met in my last year of high school. I went to college for 5 years in a different state than her, seeing her only once every 3 weeks, faithfully forsaking what would otherwise be some rather exceptional "college experiences." Staying faithful all that time until finally moving in with her, then working with her for a year before getting engaged, remaining faithful all the while. Things weren't perfect, they never are, but they were great (even mind-blowingly spectacular) by my measure most times we were together, right up until we got engaged. Something went wrong, she was afraid of the commitment, shied away, became reclusive, receded from the relationship. Then, 6 months after we got engaged, I came back from seeing a friend of mine early. I wasn't supposed to be home until the next day, but thought my chances were better driving at night to make it back for work the next day than in the morning. My friend and I had been shooting that day (as was common sport in rural Indiana) and I was armed with some exceedingly nasty rounds in a gun I could shoot exceedingly accurate up to 50 yds, wearing-in a new holster I had just bought. I came home, nothing seemed amiss. She was presumably asleep in bed. I put my gun down on the table just outside our room, too tired to put it completely away for the evening. We had no kids, the area was safe, she wasn't about to touch it, and having it at that table seemed nearly as good as putting it in a locked box at the time. I showered, brushed my teeth, and was in my boxers when I decided to climb into bed. Stumbling into bed, I shown the dim front light of my phone on the covers, checking to see where she was so I didn't trample her as I crawled into my bed beside her. Saw her shape beneath. Lifted the covers to reveal her back facing me, naked. When I had the funniest realization that I'll never forget. "Wait a minute," I thought, "that's not long hair!" It's difficult to describe what it's like to experience the maximum possible amount of hatred and misery one could ever endure at one time, but that's precisely what built up in me the moment after I ran out of explanations which allowed me to deny what my eyes had just seen. I went through every possible combination of scenarios that could have occurred in order for my fiancé not to be sleeping with my best friend before the depth of that betrayal seeped into my veins. It was like being filled with a white, hot, fiery, liquid rage so vivid, violent, and virulent that I could literally taste it as it coursed through my blood, leaked from my pores, and ran down my face to crust into the salty corners of my mouth. Pure, unfiltered, unadulterated rage the likes of which I didn't know man was capable of oozed out of my very soul, poisoning me like mustard gas, choking my breath, churning my stomach. They remained asleep there as I lifted my phone further up, finally revealing her aside Brutus, also naked. I dropped the sheet, ran to the bathroom, vomited. The room spun around me unhinged, like my soul. I felt like a human wrecking ball controlled by mindless apes, swinging violently in the air, threatening destruction of every life within my reach. She was my love, my world, that which I had devoted myself to for 7 years, my entire adult life. She was everything to me that was important - my job, my house, my future. And there she was with Brutus. In my bed. With my friend that I trusted as much as her. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not seen this coming? I had to get the gun off the table, should he wake up and use it against me. I also had to not shoot them, or myself, or anyone else. As easy as that sounds, in that fit of rage, with that liquid hate pumping through me, in that maelstrom of misery and loathing, in my own very real personal hell it took every ounce of my being and more not to simply "cock the slide, pull the trigger" as it literally echoed in my head over and over and over again. It would have been that easy. It would have been just that simple to end their lives (or at least his). In retrospect, I'm thankful that the thought of shooting his penis off never occurred to me at the time because if it had, I almost certainly would have. The fact that I was engaged in the false dilemma of either killing or not killing was a virtual miracle of science that could have quite literally saved my life at that moment, so vivid was my ire... I picked up the gun, dropped the magazine, entered the guest bedroom, put the gun in the cabinet, emptied the mag into my hand, put it and the bullets into separate drawers. And then I waited. It was all that I could do. I know from experience that I can't drive when I'm angry. I also cannot drive when I'm tired. I was at the brink of my abilities upon arriving home, this could only exacerbate my lack of control. It was small-town Indiana. I had no friends I could call at 6 in the morning (except maybe the one who was lying in bed naked with my fiancé), there were no cabs, and there were no hotels in the town I was in. I was stuck for risk of killing myself or someone else on the road. They wouldn't be awake until nearly 11. So, in the guest bedroom, where he had stayed countless times before, I lay in a bed still unclean from when he last slept in it and writhed. And writhed. And writhed. And writhed. I'll still swear that each second in that bed that morning could have been a month. I wanted to sleep, to forget, to just simply end the pain but I could not, so fraught with madness and loathing as I was. There was no stopping it. The knife just kept twisting in my gut and there was no pulling it out. I tried making noise. I was throwing fits like a small child. I thought the blood might literally burst out of my face, hot and red like some horror film. I could feel my very soul contorting inside me, willing me to put the bullets back in, to end it all any way I could. It was all over anyway. My whole life had been taken from me. I wasn't coming back from this. Everything was ruined. Everything was lost and worthless. And I was still reeling from the horror... That was the longest day of my life. After she went to work around noon (and inexplicably "denying" the "incident") I remained in that bed wanting nothing more than to shrivel up and die. I quit the best job I ever had that day. I lost the greatest thing I ever loved. Everything was gone, and I spent that day swimming in a lake of fire on the bed of my betrayer, drowning in loss, tired beyond explanation, angry beyond capacity, saddened beyond even death itself. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, all I could do was howl like a madman. Shouting inconceivable expletives at the top of my lungs, wailing like a child, kicking and screaming, without even the ability to exhaust myself. The clock seemed just stuck on the wall, and each passing moment was pure and total agony. I may not know what hell is like, but if there were ever a man who has lived it, I know his brand of pain. I've been at the brink of madness itself and seen the limits of what evil can do to a man's soul. I know what its like to lose everything, to hurt, to hate, to writhe. But even more importantly, I know what it's like to come back. I realized that the wrecking ball that I was was just as evil as the one wielded against me. I recognized that despite it all I still loved her, and that I would only be doing harm by acting in all my hate and rage. I saw the only solution to ending the hate was to abolish it first in myself. I realized that I hated where I was and that it wasn't right - that I never wanted anyone to feel what I did because it's not right, that what's right is that no one should go through that feeling, that our whole goal should be against the propagation of that kind of pain in general. I realized that night that I might never be able to completely forgive her, but I would try. It's not hard to hate - hating itself is easy: it does all the work for you. What's hard to do is forgive. And forgiving them is the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's also the only reason I ever slept again and woke up the next day. The hate is what kept me awake. The hate is what drove me to kill and to destroy. And the only way to get rid of it is to forgive. So I did. That's what I learned on my seemingly years-long journey through hell that day - that the only way out of that inferno is to forgive, in any way possible, whether by force, necessity, or grace, even if you have to lie to yourself to do it. Personally, I chose to half-believe her lie that nothing happened. It was the only way to stop that turmoil, to cool those unquenchable fires, to even just temporarily quiet the screams in my head. And it's the only reason I'm capable of writing this to you now. Today that's all well in the past. I left her the next morning and rebuilt my life from scratch. But if you would have asked me that day I would've never believed it possible for me to be happy again, to find love again, to even enjoy anything. Now that I look back on the situation I realize the depth of transformative change I experienced thereafter, how much it motivated me, aligned my goals, cleared and rarified my perspective. And though I don't think I could ever say I'm happy it happened to me, I'm surprisingly grateful for all I've gained from that trauma. If it hadn't happened I wouldn't be back in school, pursuing a dream that eclipses any I ever had before, writing a book I never imagined I'd actually endeavor into, living a life as rich with friends and family and experiencing joy on levels I never realized... Despite all my doubt, things can always get better. We can always find new paths to happiness. Each day is a new day, and it doesn't have to be filled with the fires we squelched the days before. The human mind is surprisingly resilient, so long as it remains focused on the future, and refuses to venture further into that cave of haunting hate which threatens to consume it whole... The hardest thing in the world is to let it go. But if you're true about it and put your soul into that forgiving, trust me - you'll thank yourself later...