I am now sitting in the place where I once sat down on the 5th day of June 2002 while i wrote the above poem.
The very same room is now dark, empty, dull and lifeless indicating years of abandonment. I spent most of my time in this cozy place, staying late to write poems and journals, my hiding place to cry for no good reason. Crying back then is just because of the things I created, some dramas out of my imagination. Crying now is because of what is happening, a real one. And it is not easy like I thought it was.