Killshot: Pain beyond death.

There ain't nothing in this world that could be as beautiful as you. Describing your beauty would be humiliating, there ain't no words to price your presence. Love was in the air once, but now, it ceased to exist. How would that be possible, when I thought you were the "one". How would it be possible, when I thought all I loved was you. How would it be possible when all I thought about was you. Yet, you left my sorry soul, and moved on with your life. I bet that you are definitely having the time of your life, living it the way you wanted, away from all my irritating comments and boring mumbles. And yet, I would be nothing but in love with you, for the rest of my life.

Enough with the description on my love for you, why don't I just tell everyone the story I never had.

What would you know about a killshot? As you know, my version of a killshot meant of the pain one experiences, one above and beyond death itself. I never wanna experience this pain ever again, saying that it hurts just ain't enough to describe it. Why did you exist in my life that morning? Why did I end up seeing you? Was that even love in first sight? If it was, why did it suddenly disappear? Where did it go?

You broke my heart not once, not twice, but more than tens of times. Of course I kept count, the amount of grazes on my heart left by your "killshots" actually says a lot. What did I want from you, and why did you leave me? Was my ranting too much, or my affection too little? And yet, questions remain unanswered, life remains short, and fun doesn't last as long as we want it to.

Holding your hands under the sunrise, with our feet half-dipped under the sands of the beach, with a bottle of fine wine just to accompany the warm sun upon us on that fine morning; this is my fantasy. To have this with you would be everything more than a dream come true, it would be a prophecy in fact. Of course you may think of this as too much of a fantasy, but don't you actually feel it's possible? I don't a have a kind heart, but don't you think I at least want to enjoy this with you, and no one else?

My arms around yours to keep you warm through the night, singing you a song, staring at your eyes and sniffing you sweet-smelling hair, there would be nothing else sweeter. Holding you nice and tight, dropping head over heels for you, admiring your beauty, just for that one night; it's all I ask for. The return of that one night, when will it be? When will I have you all to myself again? When, tell me WHEN?

Baby girl, it's you that I love, it's you that I adore. It's you, no one else but you. Too bad, that you didn't feel the same weird cheesy feelings I felt. "Love" was just the only word we didn't say to each other, yet we both know that it was floating somewhere in the air. A few words was all it took for you to walk away, don't you think that it should be fair a few words should bring us back together? Of course it's not fair, to you. My world, my life, is indeed nothing but an unfair one to me. 

I love you, and no one else. Yet, to show that to you, would take the whole world to be split in half, and rejoined again. Didn't make sense now, did it? That's how much I love you, so much that it should not make any sorta sense.

I love you, and no one else. My love for you can never be measured, not by you, not by anyone. You would see it again, one day.

I love you, and no one else. Come back to my arms, I'll hold you tighter than before, never choking you, but holding you just enough. Come back to me, and I'll stop all my ranting, and I'll love you, better than before.

This is my love story, undefined, unfiltered, uncherished. 

This is my love story, a stupid, sorry, pathetic one.

This is my love story, the one and only that I have.

This is my KILLSHOT.

~tHe uGLy rEtArD~ .

Killshot.

A killshot. What do you know from the word "killshot" ? Many would definitely associate the word with a favourite game of theirs, some might even associate it with guns and bullets. The way I associate it (the way a retard associates it) is that its a cold shot, piercing the muscles of the one thing that beats to make you live. This cold shot doesn't have to come from a weapon, no. In my case, it comes in the form of words, words that stab the depths of your heart, rips it apart, but keeps you alive so that you can never stop feeling the pain.

I have taken many killshots, in the past, present and definitely will be taking some in the future. There's no stopping me from getting my ass kicked around, but what's making me getting my heart thrown around? I stopped caring for myself, for my own feelings. I've started a path of my own, one that I'll never be proud of. At the same time, why does it all have to be about pride? Can't I just live my life they I want it? Nowadays, I just feel getting hurt is the best option amongst the rest. Getting hurt would also involve a lil bit of joy and happiness from here and there.

There's no saying when will I stop crapping about my life and my love stories, but there will come a day where I will learn my lesson and stop being this emo-istic, depressed ass that I am.Until then, enjoy reading up my stories, have fun imagining yourself in my shoes.

P/s: those stories have a weird vibe to them, cause they almost resemble my story. Have fun! :)


~the uGLy rEtArD~