on Love and Suicide

I hate love stories.
It will always ends in tragedy.
Too little, too much.
You will never be enough.

I saw you in the darkness, yet I looked away.
I looked away too long that you got tired of waiting.
You left one day, without any warning.
You left one day, with the rope tied to the ceiling.

We wept, we mourned.
Burnt pictures, you took them to the grave.
Nothing remain but memories.
Memories of love and all that you were.

For mother who buried her son.
For families who's questions will never be answered.
For your dreams that gone astray.
For love, you left suddenly.

To live is to die.
We are all but cosmic accident, a chance.
Lucky are the people who live it to the fullest.
Morose for the people who ended it before their time.