ALIVE!

Moulin Rouge always played on our TV. You were at the end of the sofa and you shook your head, obviously contemplating about how romantic movies are such hoax. Yet you look at me in a way that we will write our own love story. I imagined how Christian affirmed his love for Satine when she was leaving the world. I thought you would do the same. Your fingers always moved fast when it came to unbuttoning, but your eyes talked a different language that I was never interested in. The language of lust. You thought the time was right and started penning down your own lust story. I suddenly lost my reading powers and started misreckoning. Is this all? Now that you have made it clear, I disgust you. We are on different chapters mister and now there is no turning back. Moulin Rouge played in your TV. You were at the end of the sofa, nodding your head and pondering how you could have embraced the same love story but sadly and phenomenally you let this love die young!