Sometimes the end is only a beginning

But whenever tragedy strikes, one is left either to die or with a plethora of ifs and buts to ponder over.

It is hard to write it in words that I can read, that re-establishes the fact that has been haunting me for the past one year.

I threw tantrums, I acted stubborn, I was a pain sometimes, but I was still loved. In fact, I was their perfect even in my imperfection.