when.

I blog at my lowest points.

This blog serves as a timeline dominated by days when I know nothing but hurt, when I can't shake off the achy feeling etched there, right there where I'm most vulnerable, when the lump in my throat swells to astronomical sizes, when it bubbles and spills over, when I emerge drained because crying isn't a relief anymore, it comes in unconstrained waves and it really depletes you and-

I shouldn't be blogging.

why hurt right.

here's a post.

Here's a post. 

It contains highs, the first-class, noteworthy sort, it almost feels synthetic. From a meaningful side-glance that conveys inside jokes. From affection, not the over-exaggerated sort, or one that is so highly convenient it leaves you complacent. From infectious giggles. Hugs that do more than envelope you in a blanket of security.

It also compromises of unspoken rules, resentment laughed off begrudgingly, little spurts of uncertainty that accumulates into a torrent of doubts you find yourself constantly drenched in. It holds a soft spot for poignant thoughts. It accommodates apprehension, the pain of fruitless anticipation, so sharp, it comes close to shattering the silence you're enveloped in.

Just like my days used to be (occasionally is)

you have a(n almost) perfect relationship balancing the extremes

except for your sneaky little affair with sadness you try your best to smuggle away but we all know how ruthless affairs are on relationships.

And from this post, I conclude that it shall remain the last one.

Because ugh.