Ice Make Rose Garden

People often don't realize it until the end of time is eminent. We walk into other peoples' lives and other people enter our own. Life is like a bus ride... We boarded our own buses when we were born. Along the way at the different junctures in our lives people board the bus. Some choose to sit faraway from your seat, while others sat near. Our mother was probably the one that sat beside us when we were young and as we grow older and go to school that became our best friends. In the future... Will our best friends still be beside us?

Maybe some of them would have changed their seats to sit with another; While some may even alight and change their bus to reach some other destination different from yours. Only god knows where this bus will take us... But I believe... When we do reach that stop where we were meant to alight we would know it instinctively...

Who are those who would ride with us till the bus reaches its terminal-I would never know... Sometimes along the way... Someone interesting enters our lives... And with the most genuine and purest of hearts we wished we could take the courage to stand up and sit with them... What if a friend told you he would be alighting 2 more stops from now? =X Would I then dare stand up and take the sit beside? There are so many things I want to say... So many things I want to do... But people all have their own destinies...

Maybe in some other juncture in life we would meet again? =/ Because from the very very beginning... I only saw a huge ice berg and I didn't cared so much as I did before... I held on to the tip with the warmest of hands and then time just scudded by... I never took an hour; a minute; a second; a moment to notice the water trickling down... Until now... When I hold on to the remnants of a huge glacial... In my hands is nothing left but a piece of ice...

I don't want to let go... But everyone knows... and I know... Very very soon this last piece of ice would have melted away in my own hands and the water seep through the grooves and gaps of my fingers. I don't... I DON'T want to see with my very own eyes... Feel with my very own hands and experience with my very own heart that which I value disappear into thin air like magic... and I DON'T ever want to forget that feeling... Even after time passes by and I grow old... ...

Alas... I look down at my hands and the remaining shard of ice berg(Once was). In the days to come when all the last remainders had melted away as will my heart and I look down on a wet pair of hands with a wet pair of eyes... I wonder if the dampness of my own two hands would have been the ice or rather a mixture of moisture contributed from a heart weeping bitter tears for a friend he could not keep... ... =/