Only one day remaining more for exams, its going to hit me hard, yet again,leaving me to realize meaning of the phrase 'No pain, no gain'

But i lay there unaffected by the circumstances, knowing that whatever I can do is never going to lessen the pain,

After every exam that i gave
I always repented, promised myself nth times to study hard for the next one,

and the events lead me to study for none...

The time i spent in revolving around that beautiful girl's house at the end of the street, I wish i would had spent in studying physics and forget the shit...

T

The Death Of My Valentine

He started walking swiftly and slowly towards the corridor. Each step justified the event that just occured, the steps that marked the end. His eyes were exactly like a hunter, enough to add a sense of fear to the onlookers mind, his hands were already red and the red was blood. He was fearless, walking like a warrior who won a war again. The gleamy eyes were absorbing each and every frame he was looking at, giving him mere pleasure on what he did. Yes! he did it yet again,and again there was loss of life,that he calls soul, burdened by anxiety and fear. There was no sense of guilt in him, rather the emotions were a mixture of love,agony,fear,pain and jealousy, Love of the girl, agony on her friends, fear of losing her, pain of not getting her , and jealousy that he is not one of her so-called-friends. He was neither abnormal nor was pshyco or mad but he was not normal in love. Like every man on the Earth he too was the sufferer of this disease called love, love that was not for lust and nor it was infatuation. From a Monk he had turned to a sadistic killer. He himself was quite fearful of what he was and is doing, but it was late,that thing called love has taken over his mind. Lowering his head, and with the smile of a winner he started walking towards his home. His home was not a home,rather an art and image gallery. it was a dark place like the den of a lion,yet the lion was a majestic painter. From last two years he had never painted anything beside the portrait of a girl. The girl who was his day,night and dream. His love was inexplicable and inexorable, can never be produced with words nor with weapons. He reached the room,it was dark and there was a dim light, packed with normal stuff in an abnormal way. Nothing was in its proper place beside the bed and an image on the table. Below lies several torned papers, papers which were a proof of merit. Yes, he was a topper, the guy who topped in nearly everything he entered at,but yet he was a loser, loser in the competion called 'LOVE'...