Home is not my sweet home. But a place where memory hurts. Where a time will come when I have to face what I have ignored all this while. It's been 2 months since my sister left for National Service, I was quite lonely, my parents are not usually around. It felt different somehow. I just felt this peace, because when they're around, there is NO peace. There are only arguements and fighting, hurts and pains. I guess this is what most of the teenagers go through.... Right?
Home is a reflection of things. The environment. The condition. The new door that was once broken, the photo album that was once filled, the torn diary that is kept somewhere untouched. Whatever you try to make pretty, it is because it's ugly.
HAHA, I thought I deleted this, but I found it in my drafts. Guess it's too interesting to post ><>
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