5 days have gone by since St Valentine's and I am still unable to upload any of the pictures taken during then.

Past few days of isolation have had me trying to decipher the many quotes of proses and poetry in Seven Types of Ambiguity. It will probably take me another few attempts before I can be able to ascertain each underlined quote. Pardon me, for I have stopped contacting Literature since Secondary Two.

It may be the laxity, the damn flu or the book, whichever the cause I would rather not pursue. But the looming gloominess is real. Almost as if he has been my companion for some time. The mobile phone, the online instant messenger and everything else which are my vital tools to the attention I craved for are'nt yielding any results. I am dry.

Your apologies do not come with any justification. How am I supposed to react? Minutes went by as your message lies there. I do not know how to reply.

Perhaps I've been spoilt by your past indulgence. Your slowly but surely withdrawal of extravagance has my fears re-surfacing since sometime ago. I am not asking for much. I only need some concern, some reassurance. Have your priorities shifted? When was the last you made a trip here despite knowing that our time would be short? When was our last movie-date? When was the last time you phoned me to accompany me as I made the 10-minute walk home at night? When was your last call to chat? When was the last time you gave me a gift? I don't ask for a Tiffany's necklace, only consistent appreciation.

Because, I am still your girlfriend afterall.