To let such melancholy that can kill a man befall on me - what was i thinking? O tell me what can be done to take it all away. Let the wind embrace them in it's bosom. Let 'em disappear. And when it does, i will find my foolish self chasing it back.

Melancholy is the hardest thing to deal with next to depression. A personal opinion of course.

Took a deep breath, closed my eyes, revived the moments again. Like a bullet train, memories flashed back. What i saw were pictures that i left behind. That chapter of memories left untouched looked so old. With caution i lifted the book, not allowing any careless mishandling that would cause the old book to disintegrate with age.

Tiny dust particles floated in the air the moment i dust the book. It was alive, the particles. Through the dawn light that shone through the side windows, i could clearly watch them dancing in the air. I stood still and watched till every one of them found a spot on the parquet floor. I tapped my feet lightly and mumbled "I guess it's about time you enjoy such companion."

Diverting my attention away from the 'dance', i gently flip the book opened. I could instantly recognise the smell - it was the smell of history. Revolting but with such sweetness. It smelt like everything of nothing first create. My fingers moved as if tempted to flip the pages. I knew it would turn out to be another emotional turmoil. O such heavy lightness, such serious vanity. Irony is possibly the biggest joke in life.