Night without much stars reflects the lonely life of mine, seeking for some comforts but was getting none in return. The wonderful moment will soon be over and what waiting ahead of me is a week of monotonous-cum- suffocated classes, relief is soon died out and replaced by suffering smile, deep frown will soon appear with the usual down look.
The sheer laziness thwarts me from packing my stuff? Or is it merely the reluctance of going back ? For some reasons I hate to admit that though the reluctance is obvious. Feelings, always that unfathomable and profound, hard to express but easily reveal.
The hundred or thousand times I told myself leaving is nothing but yet it's unbearable. Couldn't life do without the leaving part? As usual, I hate saying goodbye.
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