22 Days

I have always carried you.

In that flashback, I remembered the time when you insisted on me piggy-bagging you back to my house.

'What? Siao!?!?!' was my response.

I did anyway - from the bus stop.

And I always claim that carrying you is way lighter than my Full-Battle Order in army. Obviously, it shouldn't be the case and you asked me why. I remembered explaining to you some weird theory about the allocation of weight - you know, my usual obfuscating bullshit.

But truthfully, perhaps (at that moment), Love makes all things lighter.

And I remembered when you refuse to wash up and slept like a piece of lard; I had to carry you to the washroom and nudge you to brush your teeth. Getting you off the bed is a feat much arduous than scoring Gold for my IPPT - I swear there could be no nightmare worst than waking you up.

That task alone would exhaust all my patience for the day; you are no sleeping log - you are a dead log.

But this is nothing - compared to what I had to shoulder for this relationship.

As days whizzed by, the load just get more emcumbersome with every new step I inched forward. More piling until it hurts my back terribly; my legs trembled with fatigue and sweat just trickled profusely. I can imagine myself quietly gripping the shoulderpad tightly and sucking in my lower lips - striding on until I couldn't move anymore.

An inexorable will alone is mundane. There are times in life where Will per se is insufficient.

Sometimes, it's not about the ability to carry, much more than the wanting to be carried.



I have 22 more days to laud and hoist the flag of the relationship, letting it dance magically through the splendid wind.

Whatever it is, I know I have carried you... till this very end... till the last day.

I will live to no regret.