Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

dreams aren't bad.

"Dispute not with her: she is lunatic."
- William Shakespeare, Richard III.


And she steps into the patch of green
feeling the rough grass on her feet,
her eyes scan the surroundings,
only to realise all the plants did not have flowers.

Not a single petal,
not a single soft delicate petal,
not a single colour
outside of the hue of green.

She dashed around,
diving into the grass,
imploring for another colour,
any other colour that was not green.

Not a single flower,
not a single petal,
not a single colour,
she hated the colour green.

That was when she lost her mind.

With her back on the grass
while she faced the colourless sky,
polarised into the darkness enveloping her,
falling into a monochrome trance.

She stepped into the shower.
The water cold as ice,
it washed away her fears,
it washed away her emotions.

As the water poured relentlessly
from the shower head above,
she stood within the cold,
wrapped with anxious searching of her soul.

Not a single colour was to be seen,
she was crestfallen.
Water was colourless,
she wondered what she was even questioning.

That was when she lost her smile.

Glass shards all over the floor;
she was all ready to tip toe to the other end.
Her mind was set,
her brows furrowed in concentration.

This was going to be it.
This was where she would fight for her life back.
This was where she would fight for her smile back.
This was where she would fight for some colour in her life.

With a nimble kick,
she had a great head start.
She pranced around gracefully,
swiftly approaching the end.

As she was about to reach the end,
she did a little wiggle,
and snap! went her ankle,
she fell to the ground, defeated.

That was when she lost her soul.

Crushed and left behind,
she stared at the mirror in front of her.
Who is that,
she asked herself.

The person in the mirror
seemed to be saying the same thing.
It must be thinking the same as her,
asking herself questions that had no answer.

She grabbed the knife that was hidden in her pocket,
threw it at the mirror and watched it shatter.
Why wouldn't it give me an answer?
Why is it asking the same questions?

She stared at the glass shards on the floor,
wondering why there was a tinge of familiarity.
She heads towards the shower
to freshen up before heading out to the yard.

That was when she lost herself.

Remember, remember,
who you once were.
If you forgot it,
keep it that way.


One ought to hold on to one's heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too.
- Friedrich Nietzsche.



I had turned back.

when you go back
all the second selfless days
you're in love with him
I want to see you again.
I love you.
But what are we going to do?


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