In an old page of my journal, I had drawn countless number of hearts.

20/12/11.

The ink was thick. It leaked through the thin fibre of the paper. The next few pages bore bright blue ink marks. 2 pages down, I see the thin line of the pen nib that once scraped this sheet of paper.

It was torn. Torn from writing.

I carefully removed those 2 sheets and brought it down to the lawn. It was dark and quiet outside- perfect surroundings. Removing a match stick from the box, I strike it against the side and watched as the orange flame burst to life, then threw it down.

I watched as the flame merrily licked away at the edges of the paper, hungrily consuming it's contents.