A relationship doesnt involve much. A promise here and there, a gift to bribe or bare, a hushed "I love you" to get out fast and then a kiss to make the words more realistic. Sex doesn't come into the picture. Sex is the whole picture.

The notion of true love is obnoxious. Where can one pinpoint the cupid's target? Which pair of hands exudes the most coupledom? What criteria does one need to be struck unconscious? If love is empowering, why does it make us blind?

Last generation believe in purity and cultivating Love. Like its some seed requiring care and nourish. The only seed I see comes from a stupid bag called scrotum. They say there's SEX sex and then there's sex sex. One for casual, one for love. Its a lie they give in to. A lie they sold me long ago. I know better.

Once, someone broke my heart but never shattered it completely. And that is the cruelest thing to do to somebody. It broke it into one thousand parts. So that piece by piece it flaked off. Like bad paint off summer Singapore wall. Carrying off fragments of the hopeful, optimistic me that I once was.

I need a detergent to wipe off the stains. I indulge in the forbidden act. Sometimes the heart needs mindless sex to chase its foolish notions out of existence. And to remember the real world it lives in.

If anything, relationships prove to be tiring. The worst relationships are the ones that wear away at you by attrition. One modest disappointment after another. A neglected call. A missed dinner date. A forgotten gift. Love isn't always about grand gestures and flowery apologies.Its not about "I'm sorry" or "Why?" for everything.

I'm broken like before. I've failed yet again. I struggle to keep up appearance. Like a bird with a broken wing. Looking out at the sky and wanting to fly but knowing it never will. And so it begins to eat away at its feathers and starve itself in despair. Knowing that the more it destroys itself, the less chances it will have to escape the cage it's in.

My blue sky is dotted with storm clouds.