Mourning, Missing, Wishing

I am lost, battling the world with a tattered soul, a bruised heart and a missing personality. I swallowed the pill at my own risk. I was beaten at my own game.  I unconsciously incarcerated myself to sterility. And I am currently interring myself, mourning at my own funeral.

I died today. I don't even remember living self-sufficiently. I can't remember having been able to smile because of me. I cannot even remember how I used to love myself. And I am upset, for letting this happen: for dying without knowing; for losing because of loving.

Too much love had killed me. And I am whining, tempers flaring, trying to get the hang of all this.

I just wish my old self back, the one who never had to die; the one who was selfish-enough to know what's fair in life and love. I miss that someone who believed that she is indeed a beauty, a diamond among the rocks that need not be told she's one hell of a catch because she believes it with all her heart. I am craving for the lady that compromised yet stayed exactly the same; the one who wanted nothing but to be whole, and not just a piece or a portion of a greater picture.

Side note: So if there really is a golden lamp to rub or a wishbone perhaps, please send it my way. I'll be more than glad to wish a complete Jenna back.