Once again, they found beauty in self-destruction. What once they did together, now they're doing on their own. Religious people were right, loneliness and desperation are gaps for devils to break into your mind.

She has this thought now, where she just wants to break every bed she slept in with whoever wants to spend the hellish nights with her.

Him, on the other hand, is focusing on which part of his head to be shot with his old gun.

In the same time, though in two different places; they're snorting cocaine with perseverance of a grave digger.

She wants to forget, he wants to live in the past. She wants to forget everything, one by one, until eventually she forgets to breathe or how to breathe.

He wants to just die in some point in the past where everything was better than today. Or maybe in a point where everything started to go south.

"Damn," she said. Realising that doesn't matter how hard she tries to forget, some memories are destined to linger forever.

"Fuck," he said. Realising that he can not go back in time.

"Accept," they thought. For acceptance is the very first step to heal. But they know too damn well that acceptance is the most hardest thing to accept. They're too close to denial in a romantically weird way.

I'd call it, "The Art of Self-destruction". They don't agree, though, denial again.

3rd December 2020. Pasha Fatahillah.

Pic credit: Ammar Sabaa