Like a cushion, though unjustified.

"It's all right, it's just a course we all have to take, it doesn't matter, it hardly does."

Comfortingly ironic, because on the contrary, that was all you had believed in, your faith, your salvation, your saving grace.

And all the more it meant much more than it seemed.

It was the coin you've gambled with, the winning lottery or the losing piece of scrap metal, which quite conveniently scars you.

It could be both, if you like.

It's all you have, one chance to play the game, and one chance to win.

Play or being played,

there's distinct difference to the abovementioned.

Be the player with your fingers twirling the coin,

or be the coin twirled dizzy by the player.

There's a knowing semblance in both occasions.

You could be both, if you like.

It might take some time to reconcile with the fact that this is over.

Time scratches the edges of a rough memories smooth, till it slips out of our fingers, out of our minds.

Some memories are meant to stay, to haunt us in the dead of the night, a grim reminder to what we wish to forget, a dreadful statement in our testaments that change and mistakes are inevitable in life, so much so they happen at a daily basis.

I would remember the way I used to laugh when you're around, how my emotions would bubble with happiness, and somehow each note would carry some eternity in its existence, that we might- just might remain this way forever. Laugh at each other's company.

But in recollections, as they always do, laughter sounded accessory.