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Let me tell you a story, there was a prince in a foreign kingdom. He was a noble man, his self full of life, eyes full of passion and head full of confidence. He loved a maiden, fairest of all, a rose in the garden of Eden. From the moment they met it was evident, fate had something scheming for them. Glances turn to greetings and greetings turned into talks of life. Embracing each other's presence the flowers sang while the butterflies danced. But it was short, the maiden had ambitions that couldn't be confined within the walls of the lavish life of a princess. The prince well aware of the fact still yearned for her, slowly something begun to brew, a forbidden curse begun to spew and a silver string wove.On the brink of the hour he let go, everything that he ever wanted to spill was spilled, all the locked up complexities unraveled slowly like a yarn but alas, all he met was disappointment. The ram of his passion was met with a wall of steel which just couldn't be broken down. And what followed could only be justified as a tragedy. Just like the wind of the east, the maiden disappeared, the prince left confused. He knew this was coming, he thought he was prepared but it seems all that preparation was just a hoax. In a state of confusion and frenzy, the prince went on a search, he ran through the jungles, he ran with the wolves, he went to the darkest alleys of the moon but he couldn't find it. No matter how much he pleaded for it, he couldn’t grasp it; an explanation, a reason, his pleas could only be heard by the cold marble of the palace and the stained pillows of his bed beaming with passion that lips couldn't bring out. In an attempt to give himself some closure, in an attempt to give himself some justice the prince began to play with his mind. He curated a play, one with fragments of wishfulness and rationality as the soul. He made up scenarios and started piecing a puzzle together, which might not be correct but at least was something.Without a reason in concrete, he began to question everything and anything about himself. Maybe it was his looks? Maybe his personality? Maybe the fact that he was too passionate? He didn’t know. This spiraled him, like a sailor, drifting in the sea without a compass. In an attempt to give himself some mercy, he distanced himself from the source, he burned the paintings and he threw the letters. He could tear as many paintings he wanted and throw away each and every single letter but what he couldn't do was rid himself of the memories, he couldn't bring himself to forget all those blissful moments, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of what he had and, he couldn't burn himself out. The more he stabbed his memories, the more his heart began to bleed. But such is the play of fate, it turns everything that is or ever will be into something that was. It turns everything into a memory. Just like how those moments of joy became a memory, these moments of tragedy soon began to become distant memories. Yearning every second will turn into remembering every now and then. As they all say, “time heals”. What they did not say were time leaves scars, yeah the hurt could heal but the scars served as a reminder. “Forgiving is easy but forgetting is a harder fight” as one said. Every time the prince looked at himself in the mirror, he was reminded of what he lost, always leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth. But time waits for none. Now, the prince has grown, he endured his battle and came out, scarred but alive. He even sees his maiden every once in a while and although he feels that shadow creeping closer ever so slightly, this is the poetry of a battle no matter who emerges victorious, he will be stronger than yesterday. Hence, the prince has grown and so will he keep on growing until he one day scatters in the wind like a dandelion and begins his next chapter.