How strange it feels that things in life don't last forever

How things come and you'd think that they'll be around for a long time

Then you realise they're gone.

How strange it is to feel

Your heart bursting with butterflies, happiness and affection

Then that turns to agony, hate, despair

How strange it is to think that he or she is the one

Then you think to yourself, "what a waste of time"

How strange it is to have the best time of your life with the people you care about

Then the next thing you know, you're miles away from them

How strange it is to think that your family will forever be intact

Then your parents decided that their love for each other is lost

Strange as it seems, they come and go for a reason

They do it to help you learn, grow

But the strangeness and the emptiness you feel inside doesn't seem to make any sense

But I know deep inside, this world is temporary

Just keep going, let them pass, let them go.

Ice cubes and milk twirl along with my spoon, painting white spirals in the pool of terra cotta orange at the top of my glass. The escaping aroma is like that of a flower, which smells sweet enough to eat, minus the nasty prickle of pollen. Served either hot or cold, its flavor is always warm and rich, the type that sinks into your chest as you take a sip. Thai tea feels like staying inside on a rainy day. And whenever I need a boost, Thai tea is like a gentle nudge on my shoulder on a lazy summer afternoon.

I’ve found the perfect drink for me - Thai tea becomes exactly what I need it to be when I need it. Pity I don’t get to have it that often.

When darkness comes, all is quiet. The moon is out and the bunker is locked, sealed tightly under smooth cement. Coldness arrives quickly, sharp nips at the skin as breath condenses, heavy and frigid. Fingernails trace the walls that cave in. The blind lead the blind, down staircases of twisted vine and shattered pottery, wet moss and brick. Steps are tentative, felt around to avoid shards on bare heels. Then comes the smell of grass, an overwhelming aroma that gives headaches and blocks the lungs. It's almost over.

We're tasked to observe it sometimes: the creature clawing up the inside of the metal walls. It scratches and scratches, leaving marks littered all over the enclosure-- tallies of the thousands of times its tried to escape. Its eyes are bloodshot and it stares right at me, but I look away, back towards the engraved walls. The patterns from its claws are decorated with blood, leaving messages we observe everyday but never understand. As the creature begins to scratch again, we hold our hands over our ears, the vile shriek of metal reverberating throughout the laboratory. I glance back at the creature. The tips of its fingers are bloody again.

And there's a fire in its eyes that I can't understand-- a flame that's strangely human. It tells me that even if an eternity passes, and even if its nails never grow back, it will still be scratching at these walls.