My Huckleberry friend, please take my hand as we sail down the Moon River.

Every episode of Grey's Anatomy makes me sob like a lovelorn fool-which is why I love it so. Tonight's cause is the elderly couple of which the wife is diagnosed with advanced cancer. First the husband was informed, but insisted on keeping the truth from the wife because he could not bear to break her bubble of happiness. And when the wife was informed by Meredith (who's too self-righteous to be dishonest) of her condition, she requested the same thing because he was always afraid that she'll leave before him. Love should be so. It's about silent suffering and self-sacrifice just for the significant other's happiness.

I could still see, at the back of my mind, how they left the hospital holding hands, smiling indulgently at each other. Imagine the inner turmoil, the searing inescapable pain of the knowledge that you won't have forever together. That just stirred something within me. Why do people even promise each other of everlasting love when we'll all die eventually? After death, there'll be no more us, no more promises, no more love. I know I shouldn't dwell on depressing facts when I'm just 19 and have maybe 60 years ahead of me. But really, if what's waiting at the end for us is just separation, then I don't think I'm strong nor courageous enough for that extent of pain and sorrow. Commitment and whole-hearted devotion...hmm, I ought to reconsider my stand on those qualities.

I don't like LeeHom's Forever Love anymore.

dysphoria came at 11:59 PM