Category: Fiction and Future @ Occipital Lobe


Love, can be heaven on earth, but it can hurt like hell; they had the perfect love story, that could make the movies jealous, until…

It was a bright and sunny Sunday with a scheduled 10am Sunday morning jog, where she would be basking in the warm rays of the morning sun, with heat waves radiating beneath the sheath of glorious yellow light glistening droplets of perspiration trickled down her spine as she jogged her way through St. Evans Park and that was the moment where she met him.

Sitting by the curb of the jogging track, screaming away the agony of pain that was painted across his face as he tugged tightly to his well swollen ankle, he gripped his fist onto the ground so tightly that his knuckles turned white. In his mind, he was thinking to himself, it was a Sunday. What on good heaven’s sake was he doing in St. Evans Park, trailing along to fit couples pacing their way down the track, trying to chase after them as if a hound was attempting to get to the postman’s tail. It’s Sunday – SUNDAY!! It is the day of recreation and relaxation, an opportunity to escape the grindstone of work. He could have gone to play tennis with his budd or golfing with his clients. But he was now grunting away in pain until he met her.

All the pain in him instantly subsided as he saw he pacing her way sown the track, deep inside him, he probably was drooling away, almost salivating. When she saw him, no other words needed to be said, but she immediately helped him towards a nearby bench. Obviously, she couldn’t help him all by herself, so she called for help. Before emergency arrived, she chalked up conversation with him and in that prickly situation “Hi, I’m Emma”. “Hey! Ivan, pleasure. Thanks by the way.” And with that blink of an eye, conversation grew, budding from that park bench, into the ambulance, to the ER. She waited for him that whole afternoon at the ER, followed by that trip, she drove him back to his townhouse opposite St. Evans Park as his ankle as swollen as though it suffered some intense bee attack. That goodbye, made him realize who he had met, he didn’t just met her, he met HER.

As how we would like to put it, that jump start Phase 1 – the hello. It wasn’t long before he realized that Phase 1 only lasted at that stark moment and it would have to be up to him to determine the beginning of Phase 2 – the chase. Almost everyday, or maybe just every weekend where he soon knew of her scheduled 10am Sunday morning jogs, he would he having a constant monologue being spoken in his mind, trying to cook up a story or just a random conversation to show his gratitude for helping him that particular Sunday afternoon.

Trailing her like a lost puppy locating its owner, he managed to grab her attention and asking her for dinner. Well, dinner was declined but a number was exchanged. He stared at that long awaited 10-digit phone number like it was some rare gemstone. By the third day, he gathered everything he had in him and go t the guts to finally ring that number, not long after. It was Phase 3 – the romance.

Throughout their dating lives were lovey-dovey moments all the time. But they were adrenaline junkies and ridiculous romantics at heart. Dates normally go around mountain climbing, scuba diving, bungee jumping, parasailing, you get the picture. Along with meals at the peak of the hills watching the russet rose sunset, supper with the stars, being the astronomy freak Ivan was, Emma will try to impress him by saying the moon is The Big Dipper, laughs & giggles would fill the atmosphere, breakfast with the company of the glistening sunrise. They being the first ones to greet the rising horizon will take second to nothing compared to dining at Tavern on the Green in New York. As he said : “our love travels the tallest mountains, conquers the deepest seas and walk the furthest lands.”

But as months pass by and years came along, when hiking and jogging became nothing more than routine exercise and both of them just started to get bored and soon. Phase 4 – settling down entered their lives and started its own chapter in their book of love.

Emma soon moved into Ivan’s townhouse and both of them have their daily commitments. Since Emma job requires her to work a late shift, she makes breakfast and he has a nine-to-five work regime so he does dinner. Both meals is to be eaten alone, savoring loneliness deep within the toffee infused sweetness from her crème caramel and the hints of deep sea anchovy saltiness of his Mies en Plas before roasting his whole chicken fillet along with the citrusy tinge of fresh greens to their taste buds without their destined half.

All this while, Ivan knew someway or another, at this Phase of life, it is a crossroad between settling down, getting married and staring a family or breaking up and live their separate lives all over again. But, he had no intention other than grow old together with Emma. He’d constantly come home late as he would be traveling miles and miles to her hometown for her parent’s blessings for her hand in marriage. Engagement rings were made and secret meetings were arranged with her bestfriends and family to plan for the moment of their lives. But, little did she know…….

February the tenth, the day to be tattooed forever in her heart, marked their 5th anniversary together. They would normally have their weekly Sunday jogs at St. Evans Park, but instead he told her to go ahead jogging earlier, he distracted her with excuses such as problems with his bowel and misplacing his jogging shoes. But behind those ever so deceiving hazel eyes, he was instead dressing up like a 5year old playing with her Barbie doll with the aid of his and her parents, their close friends and family, all sharing that joyous moment with them. But she didn’t know, on that very day would be a concoction of Phase 5 and Phase 6.

Just when the clock struck 10am, the moment which symbolized the moment she bumped into him 5 years back in history, he graciously stepped out from his townhouse in preparation for that moment. As he made his way across the street, most probably feeling nauseated and light headed from the thought of that 2carat princess cut diamond ring slipping into her long finger….

On the other hand, while she was making the second turn around the corner, she was contemplating his decision while droplets of perspiration further confused her sane mind on whether on their fifth anniversary, he might have completely forgotten about it or even to the extent of ending their 5 year courtship.

But soon enough,

“ BANG !! ”

“ clink…clink…clink…”

These two sounds, combined together at that very moment along with the combination of her scattered and fuzzy thoughts of their future together, aggrandized with glass shattering screams by St. Evans Street, was more than enough to send Emma walking down , or she was jogging, no maybe she was running, alright more of pacing down the pavement to soon realize that the sight before her was a grown man fully suited up, faced down on the tarmac road, almost as if he was floating in a pool of what resembles blood…

‘ man . face down . suit . lying on road . blood pool . crash . RING ’

All these flashed through her mind exceeding the speed of light and soon realizing that her family, her in-laws, her friends were all standing by the foot of their shared townhouse, gapping and had petrified painted all over their faces top what they had just witnessed. Soon, it had hit her, and it hit her hard as tears replaced perspiration soon glided down her peach blushed cheeks, still warm from the jogging has now turn fiery hot, her knees soon fell to the ground as her knuckles covered her face, refusing to accept the fact that it might just be Ivan lying face down on the asphalt road, she made her way, almost crawling towards the man.

It took everything she had to turn his face towards her , every little ounce of courage in her, that string of hope. It was then…Stage 6 – goodbye. No words could come close to describe the feelings running through her hazy mind.

Paramedics, police and passer-by were all there to either witness or provide aid to the tale of a tragic crash or the ending of a love story that would bring romantics to tears. Soon the paramedics rushed him onto a stretcher onto the tiny narrow area in a four-wheeled vehicle, with the sirens up the ambulance made it’s way towards Emergency & Rescue.

The journey was dreadful, by the seconds, Emma could feel every cell in her body was slowly dying away of sorrow, she felt her heart break and crumble into fine powder, as she knew deep down, she was trying to console herself that the truth had been told, written into their chapter of life that it could be the last time she would ever see him again. Faint beeping sounds of his heartbeat was all it took for her to keep her hopes high enough to delude the fact that he’d soon be gone.

As soon as the hospital was in sight, her heart had sunk, till she saw he had his eyes squinted for a taint second. Opportunity in hand, he murmured a few words..


before she could respond, it ended with an

“ i……loveeeee…….y….”

These few words, left hanging, were faint enough with only the heart capable of hearing.

It was then, Phase 6 came to an end, the end to their chapter of life, their story be told. Their first and last dates might be destined to be in an ER. She knew at that instant, even though it was a goodbye never said but “once you start loving someone, you never stop; because it was he who taught me how to love, but now how to stop.” As she gave him one last hug, one last kiss, one last goodbye.

It was written in her journal, read at his funeral, ending her eulogy.
She said:

“I knew looking back at tears will make me laugh; but
I never knew looking back at laughs will bring me to tears.
I’m so glad we had each other in our live cause I know no matter what we’ll
make it through and always have a tomorrow together.
even though now I’ll have to finish this journey alone, but with you forever in my
heart, as in my heart is where you’ll live and I’ll keep waiting till we meet’’

From that moment on, it was the beginning to the end of their love story, told from the heart, as she said hello to goodbye.



Tears filled my eyes as I ascended upon the podium, feeling a wave of exultance sweep through my entire being. The flashbulbs went off like rockets as I held my trembling hands out to receive the award that I had not expected to attain. After all, the International Young Poet’s Award was only obtainable by the brightest and most inspiring young writers out there and I certainly was not expecting this to happen when I submitted my works in for the running.

I allowed a smile to grace my face, giving a small, humble bow as I did. The clapping never ceased-it was thunderous, coming from the audience of more than a thousand, all dressed up in their very best for this formal event. I, too, had tried to appear my best, though it did not come off very well. Still, it didn’t matter now. I felt neither self-conscious nor embarrassed, for this was my success, the many years of hard work toiled with seat and blood.

Wistfully, I reminisced about the past. Just like everyone else, I, too, had a tale to tell. Rome was not built in a day, and similarly, this success was not achieved in just a day itself.

I came from an English educated family and cultivated an interest of reading since young. However, as time went by, I baffled everyone not just with an extensive book collection-but also by having a passion for writing itself. While the people around me categorised themselves as the jocks, the geeks, or even the punks, I classified myself as someone who did not belong anywhere. When the girls complained about the rain messing up their hair, I immersed myself into the sweet, sensational feeling of it. Afterwards, I would be seen huddled in a corner, scribbling furiously into a notebook.

It was no wonder that I could not fit in easily-I was just so much different from others on terms of thinking. Words were the most beautiful thing to me-and should be used to express the second most beautiful thing that existed, which was the human soul. Feelings that were indescribable to others were describable to me with writing, and though I was admittedly not an Aristotle or a Socrates, I gradually found myself mixing the beauty of language with worldly philosophical thoughts.

Time marched on and everybody grew up. Universities and various institutions began visiting us, introducing the various courses, programs and career pathways available for us. The flurry of excitement become even more apparent as graduation day approached. Plans were carefully made, fees were being balanced, farewells were being made. While the indecisive ones were constantly on a debate with their inner selves on what to pursue in the future, many others had laid out paths for themselves-paths that were perfect and unblemished, whether it was to become a surgeon that would save the lives of others or a designer to showcase their artistic talents. One thing for sure, though-things were changing, minds were evolving; and life was definitely going to take a turn for many at this point.

My parents had hoped that amidst all the years of biological dissections,k chemical mixings and complex mathematical equations, I would pick up an interest in something scientific. Sadly, their hopes were crushed. Their daughter, a top scorer in Biology and the one that was always top ten in class, was more interested in her foolish little drabbles and her bizarre imaginations than pursuing something more commendable like a doctor’s degree. They then proceeded to introduce a whole line of Economics and Accounting subjects to me, hoping that I would at least take a course that would enable me a source of wealth, but I remained adamant on a Bachelors of Arts degree. To me, the future belonged to me and myself alone. It hurt me to see my parents being upset, but I knew I had to make them understand and see my reasonings. To pursue this was not a want, it was a heed, for language was the great well in which I drank to quench my thirst.

Finally, reasoning won through and I was in the overseas, New Zealand to be specific. I never had problems adapting to such a place of tranquil and serenity, in fact, I enjoyed to share ideas with others of different cultural backgrounds. Every new friend I made was a different experience, and I knew they felt the same curiosity towards me as I felt towards them. To top it all off, I enjoyed my courses immensely, and I often admitted it without shame. While others complained, wailed and whined about their uninterest in things like medical and dentistry, I would willingly stay up in the darkest hours of the night, pouring over Shakespeare and Robert Frost while venturing into a few works of my own.

Soon enough, I began to have thoughts on my work-I wanted them to be shared with others. I wanted others to not only read my works, but to feel them with their soul. I considered a piece of my work a success whenever it inspired someone out there. Hence, I volunteered at papers and magazines, writing articles on short stories on a part-time basis. Soon after obtaining a Bachelor’s degree, I decided to take a step further by obtaining a Master’s degree. Of course, life was always in a rush, never pausing for anything, not even for a weary soul. I took the these pent-up emotions and wrote them into the book I had decided to write, hoping for the best to happen.

Alas, it was not to be. The real challenge arrived after that, where I was unemployed for a long time. There were no vacancies at any newspaper or publishing entries and everywhere I looked, there were no positions available for someone of my degree. I fell short on my expenses and had to endure the teasings of friends and the scoffs of relatives, all of them saying “I told you so.” When the rain came or the nights were long, I would sink into a wave of despondence, feeling the despair wash through me, a battered being without a place to be. It reminded me of the past, an unwanted figure anywhere I went. Every day I would ask myself: was my passion not enough? Did I choose the wrong path? Perhaps if I had listened to others, perhaps I would not be in this state of exhaustion. Still, there was nothing I could do but to continue writing, even when I was rejected by countless publishers and newspaper firms.

The months went by and I completed my book-which I titled as “The Struggle”. It depicted the life of a city girl who was just too different in the place she lived in, and the mental hardships she endured as she grew up. I, however, felt no happiness when the book was finished, so I just decided to submit it in for the running of an award and be done with it. Then, perhaps, I would have to go back to the beginning-obtain a Science degree, push on and more importantly, to reset my mind. I had to tell myself that passion was useless in such a cruel world like this, that dreaming was a pointless thing to do. Why should I continue to dream on, anyway, and to have myself crushed over and over again?

However, as I stood in this current moment and felt the rush of mixed emotions wash through me, I realised that I had not made any mistakes at all. It was just one of life’s hardships that I had to face. What mattered the most was the person, him or herself. My face coloured slightly, for I knew that I had responded pathetically to that challenge-if I had not submitted my book in, I would never be able to stand at this precise location, an award cradled in my arms. I shook my head. Never would I react with such negativity ever again. If there was anything I had learnt from this experience, it was the resilience of the human soul.

As the emcee prodded me slightly to give a speech, I broke down completely, warm, salty tears spilling down my face. I scanned the crowd, knowing that my parents, relatives and friends were somewhere there, gazing up at me with strength and pride. I stood and embraced this particular moment once more, before taking hold of the microphone to tell everyone the story of The Struggle-the young girl’s struggle, which was mine.

Dreams could be fulfilled. Passions shouldn’t be ignored. Couple that with perseverance, and anyone could be the next one on the podium of success, experiencing the moment that they have been waiting for. I certainly experienced mine, and hope others would experience it too.


At a certain point in our lives, there lived a moment where we would endure a moment of joy, an ecstatic joy, an inexplicable elation, a moment where words lose its significance to those escalating emotions, a moment where we have been awaiting for. For me, that moment of ecstasy is where I take my last breath and sight before falling into eternal slumber.

My heavy eyelids took like an eternity to be raised, and another eternity to accustom to the blinding morning rays that penetrated through the windows of my room. Fresh and invigorating crisp air couldn’t be instantly scent, as my deteriorating sense of smell, like my other senses, was failing me as each numbered days gone by. But soon, the boisterous chirping of the myna bird lured me to throw a blurry stare to the ever-magnificent view of the Titiwangsa Mountain Range. Instead of gasping in awe, I led out some hacking coughs that throw my lungs out, indicating the little time I could still tolerate with life’s last challenge.

A couple of knocking sound was heard from the door. With nearly all my strength, I spoke the commonest words “Come in” with a distorted tone and a weak voice. The door screeched open to reveal the visitor, which happens to be my personal caretaker and the person that I have devoted my sincere love since more than half a century ago and still kept to the devotion, and vowed to keep it until my last breath, which was going to take place soon. This person is none other than my loving wife, and she came in with a tray of scrumptious looking breakfast along with some medications. She sat on my side, slowly inserting spoons of warm and aromatic congee into my dry mouth. I looked at her occasionally, and she still looked ever-gorgeous and gracious, despite the cruelty of time and age had built countless crates and valleys on her once youthful face. Knowing that this might be our last rendezvous, I whispered to her in an undertone, to ask her consent to re-enact those loving and intimate moments that we did since half a century ago. She agreed and held her lips to meet mine. Passionately, we had our final kiss, and strangely, that kiss had as though gave me some energy as I felt more awake than the last few days I were on the same bed.

They say that the final few moments of one’s life would be exceptionally awake and energetic, and so I wondered: is that the premonition that is happening to me? Has the countdown timer started? Not long after she left, a phantasmagoria of mirage presented before my eyes. It looked familiar, it looked surreal, it looked rather recognisable. It was scenes of my past re-enacting before my death bed! All of those joyous moments, from childhood to teenage life, from being successful in career to having a family of myself and even carrying my first grandchild, all of those unspoken happiness, performed in a panorama of sepia images. Water gradually gushed out from my pair of old eyes, with each drop expressing gratefulness to the Lord and telling indescribable happiness.

All of a sudden, a strong gush of wind blew into the room swiftly, and took away the mirage and disapparated it in thin air. I looked towards the mountain range. It was a picture of the magnificent ball of fire firing its remaining rays while approaching the horizon, bringing this part of the world towards nightfall. A twilight scene at my twilight moments, I thought. Another series of knocking was faintly heard. With my rather drenched energy due to reliving the joy and excitation moments, I welcomed in. It was a delegation of my family members, heralded by my first son that came to visit me. They approached and surrounded my bed, looking solemn and lugubrious. Probably because of the grim and sad air filling the room, my youngest grandson broke into tears. I caressed his hair with my rough wrinkled hand, telling him that it’s nature’s law to have everything that begun to end. After pausing a few moments, I expressed, “You should know that I am proud of you for what you are today. Thank God I have lived to see this day, with no regrets,” Shortly, I led out a few more lengthy breaths.

Silence lurked in my room, but in my head, some familiar hymns were sounded. One of them was something like “This is the day the Lord hath made” which was used in a blissful ceremony to tie the knot with my beloved wife, and the last tune was a choir singing melodiously, signifying my last moment on Earth. It was “Amazing Grace”, beautifying all the gifts bestowed from the Lord above, praising the Lord above for His blessing to me throughout my 78 years of life. Finally, happiness took dominion over my body, and with bliss I led out my last breath and having my eyelids closed, for eternity. The moment I have been waiting for had arrived.


By : Lim Li Anne
Author’s note :
This was actually a prologue of a story written at a dark night many, many months ago. Since the previous post was related to war, hence, I found this fitting. Enjoy.

“I’m not afraid of death. It’s the stake one puts up in order to play the game of life.”
 – Jean Giraudoux Prelude

“Just what would you do to prove your determination?
To stand upright and whip out dictations,
As the rest gaze at you with admiration,
While you try to dish out everything with perfection.

Just what would you do to correct your wrongs?
To end the hypocrisy that has been there for too long,
As you endure the mockeries that resemble hurtful songs,
While struggling to erase mistakes carved on that statue of bronze.

Just what would you do to live life to the fullest?
|To take chances and attempt to soar to the highest,
As obstacles hurl themselves with their toughest,
While you join the rest and together shine the brightest.

Just what would you do to show your love for others?
Respect for your parents, affection for your brothers,
As arguments escalate and force apart the set of lovers,
While you try to fill up the cracks with sand and withered roses…”

My fists balled up tightly, crushing the bloodstained piece of paper tightly in the palm of my hand. I closed my eyes and tried to stop the pounding in the base of my skull, the regret that coursed through my veins like a live fire.

The truth was, I would have done anything.

All I needed was to try, to attempt, to at least make a simple effort.

 I could not even do that.

Brushing away the hair that was obstructing my vision, I knelt down. The cold, hard granite was rough and uncomfortable on my knees, and it especially stung at the scar that would permanently be there. I shook my head. It would be a reminder of what a fool I was. It was a reminder that you were once alive but was gone for good. It was a reminder that I had caused this. A reminder. A reminder. A damn reminder that I was never good enough.

Your initials were carelessly scratched at the bottom of the headstone, where I knew you were resting, somewhere below. And that was where I silently placed the small bunch of flowers I had picked at the valley side. I remember what you loved most – carnations. Should I initiate a prayer? Perhaps. I did not cry, for I knew you hated it the most when I did.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally found the strength to stand up. It was dusk, and your resting place was overlooking the seas of Rothna. Seagulls were soaring in the sky, not knowing or caring about the incident that took place just a few hours ago. Everything was dyed red, the rippling waters, the flurry of sand, the swaying palm trees, young children that were running to their mothers. Many people were shaken, but life still had to go on. Dinner and sleep would come. And dawn would arrive the next day, erasing any evidence of a violent battle that took place the day before.

I was taught to grieve, to mourn, but not to let it hold me back forever. Losing lives in a battlefield was a common occurrence – I needed to tell myself that this was just another unfortunate case, a case that was no special than any other lost life.

 The wind blew.

Grass tickled my ankles, water drops from strong waves sprayed onto my face.

I unfolded my palm, and allowed the wind to carry the piece of crumpled paper away.


Carry on.


 I would find the strength. Somehow.

thefourlobes is glad and proud to received it’s first work from a contributing writer! Without further ado, thefourlobes presents, The Poem for Tonight by anon.

The Poem for Tonight

Under the dark curtains of the night
Where the mundane children of the light
Were tired and filled with appetite
But the haunting children of the night
Through the darkened sky had taken flight

Under the stygian cloak of the night
Slumber fluttered gracefully light
Careful to avoid candles so bright
Whispered to children deep in sleep quite
Reciting the poem for tonight

Under the deathly veils of the night
Hypnos flows subtlely into sight
Meadows of flowers dance in delight
A malevolent horse full of fright
Dreams are but dreams of an abstract site

Under the somber wings of the night
The children drifts on in Nyx’s might
As Age continues his solemn plight
And man continues their futile fight
Under the heartless gaze of twilight

The second work published, “Love’s Reminder” received some positive response, which marks a good sign for this site.

For the next few days, thefourlobes will present to you the first published publication of thefourlobes subscription, which is the “The Moment I Have Been Waiting For” series. Enjoy.



Wearing my pristine white dress, a glass of wine in my hand, I closed my eyes, savouring all that is happening and revolving around me. My heart was content. All the years of sweat and tears finally paid off. Being in this very simple room, around the crowd of people, I was filled with joy that I myself could not comprehend. Notwithstanding the fact that I was once shunned, rejected, criticise or made a fool of, I finally made it. Together with my crew, I manage to clime the ladder of success.

All of a sudden, the lights dimmed. Intakes of breath could be heard, it was time. The time the truth will finally be unveiled. Looking at the creamy yellow envelope in the long hands of the master of ceremony. My heart started pounding. As he slowly opened the envelope, sweat tickled down my forehead. His careful and snail-like movement raised anticipation, excitement as well as trepidation in every single one of us. When the results finally emerged, silence fell. The sudden pitch made by the microphone reverberated throughout the room. I swallowed hard as the emcee slowly reached for the microphone. I closed my eyes again, silently praying to God.

As if God had answered my prayers, the emcee announced my name. I could not believe my ears. Tears swelled in my eyes. The spotlights are on me now. It’s my time to shine. My have finally been discovered. I am no longer the amateur that most regarded me as, fearful, timid. Now I stand before them, tall and proud. A woman who is filled with pride and joy of her work. I  am no longer the amateur that most regarded me as, fearful, timid. Now, I stand before them, tall and proud. A woman is filled with pride and joy of her work. I placed my glass on the table. Slowly, with my hands and legs slightly trembling, I stood up. I gave a bent to the audience. “Please, Miss Lim. The stage is yours,” said the host for tonight. I gave a slight nod of comprehension. Clutching tightly on the hem, I took a deep breath. With careful and precise movement, I walked towards the stage.

Feeling all eyes on me, I smiled. There was nothing to be afraid of, I have earned it. Elated, I went towards the emcee with slow strides. Clutching the award in my hands, I pondered for a brief moment. I had no clue in what to say. Images of my past flashed through my mind. My parents, my friends, my rivals, my companions… these are the people who made me who I am today. I had so much to say, I wanted to pour out till my heart is content. Yet, I know better to do so.

Sniffing and blinking back tears, I tried to control my overwhelming emotions. Control, that was what he taught me. Never let your feelings cloud your judgements, he always say. How could I ever forget? Thanks to him, I made it here. Reaching out my hand for the microphone, I gave the audience a brilliant smile. I will thank them later, I will do it personally. I will give them what they should deserve, a real thanks. The emcee broke the silence, “Is there anything you wish to say?” I focused on the audience, gave a ninety degree bow and said “thank you”.

Silence continue enveloping me, panicked began to rise. Standing here, on this stage, I felt lost. I looked down at my feet, my good mood rapidly deteriorated. I wanted to cry, hide in a hole. Without any warning, one stood and clapped. Slowly as if the audience have followed his pace, another stood and clapped. Soon, the audience gave me a standing ovation.

Yes, this is it. All I have ever dreamt of. All my fantasies becoming a reality. I looked up. My heart filled with the upmost joy. This is it. This is the moment I have been waiting for.

Love’s Reminder
By : Lim Li Anne

To them, you were the gentle moon that caressed the land
With its silvery glow glinting off the sand
To them, you were the majestic sun that hung in the sky
That casted shining rays and brought things to life.

To me, you were nothing but a mere apparition
Or a twisted smother of fiction
Sent from hell to torment, to lie, to send palpable waves of despair
I told myself, strictly, firmly, to beware.

But then you began to show me the world
With you being staggeringly bold
Resistance was futile ; previously I would have run
But now I admit that was how it humbly begun.

A lost being would always be lost without one’s guidance
And it takes more than willpower to break the lost one’s resistance
You led me out of the dark, and I realized I had misjudged you
For you were more than what I expected, a being who was never a fool.

The seasons flew, the stars blinked their last
Reality struck me, a pole that swung too fast
The barrier had been shattered, the last secrets revealed
How exquisite you were, a being I could never deceive!

Looking back at the beginning, I realized that they had misjudged you too
For you were much more than just the sun and the moon
You were the never-ending music that flowed in my veins
Strength that never yielded,  courage that never faded.

Gestures of affection, though exchanged
Led only to efforts that were in vain
Your love for everything was just too great
What person would I be if I were to deny you your fate?

The answer is clear, it matters not now
The things I can love are unlimited, and with that I shall not frown
You were the light that guided me, and out of treacherous roads
You taught me how to fill the world, with resplendent rainbows.

My life is spread out before me, a shining plane of brilliance
As you inspired me, I too shall inspire others
And with my hopes, my dreams, I shall walk the path I desire
And though you would walk differently, I would always remember

The person who made a difference, the person who cared
Perhaps we would be together someday, snuggled in a lair
However, for now, let me give you a toast
To one of the most inspiring person I have ever met, a true friend I can boast.

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