There was a girl who suffered
In her state as hot
as the sun up close.
Just recently, she felt the bottom of the pit
and his her true self behind her quirky drawings and bubbly disguise
as the eagles laid eyes on her for the first time.
At her laptop, she spilled her heart and confessed her tears to millions and millions of viewers watching in awe and shock of what she released from her mouth.
It caught me as well.
We never crossed paths
Yet I still felt her pain.
Or as I should have said, my pain.
Oh, darkest cloud has come back to haunt my world.
For the past six times I witnessed that haunting picture, my mind has not resisted the urge to stop imagining her shattered beauty and saving her from the destruction of her world.
She and I, we became telepathic, with all our suffering, dark mental images, self-hatred, overbearing inner voices and broken spirits.
But why out of all the people in the world, did this particular girl suffered a similar way at the same age, complete with the same thoughts and feelings?
Aye, even after witnessing that tragedy, it still races around her day and night, creating stories about saving that girl from jumping to the otherside.
Oh, that dark-haired, light-skinned vulnerable beauty of what it's supposed to be a woman. So pure, imaginative and innocent, yet destroyed by an obsessive mindset.
Sometimes, I wish I never have listened to heart-breaking, raw autobiography. At the same time, I'm glad to retrieve a person who I can relate to so dearly. How, I wish I could hug her. How I wish I could say, "My dearest, sweetest J@*^$>, I sympathise with you because I too have suffered." How I wish we could both lift each other up from this Never-ending topless pit as our arms embrace each other as one!
But alas, we live halfway across the world from each other in her hot oven-like state and my grey cloud-filled town.