September is the month I painfully thought would never end. I thought the ebb of suffering is an oasis, that culmination of my pain is the start of curing. This conundrum starts when this pain seems to be aggravated when the wound seemingly heals on its surface. The nexus between healing and forgetting seems obscure. The words that clearly camouflage the emphatic torment are nothing more than embellished lies. People perceive the saccharine smile as an ostensive affirmation. Beneath the sedentary look is a decrepit soul.

The intellect is always fooled by the heart. –François de la Rochefoucauld, Maxims