Tear.

I couched myself on the slightly dewed grass field by the river bed. I found myself tired, not physically, but emotionally. Tired of trying to prove a point I never had to prove in the first place. My back ached for it hadn't been laid that flatly and comfortably in so long a period.

I gazed at the evening sky. It was velvety. Beautiful.

I played back a few of the memories I had made in the past decade and nine years and I realized my memories were very, very disengaging. I wasn't able to understand what made me, the young lad who had several colourful dreams and hopes, into a dull guy with dim dreams. I wasn't able to comprehend why I suddenly realised I was all alone in this vast planet and I wasn't able to comprehend the exhausting isolation that people liked to throw at me, every time they have the opportunity to gaze at me.
I wasn't able to comprehend why I perceived myself as someone who I actually wasn't. I couldn't understand why I painted a picture of myself with a mask. I truly couldn't understand why I thought and was even convinced that being me was the lamest I could ever be.

Like I said, the memories were disengaging, hapless to be utterly honest. Presently, I could feel my wet eyes, ready to drench my face with tears. And so I did. Not because I wanted to but because I needed to. And then I wiped them off.