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"I really like you. Okay, I also like her, but that's it. I can like any other person, right? But with you its really different."

Bullshit. You can now go back to being a slimy and disgusting frog.

Now, I don't believe in commitment but I respect those who do. One reason: my bestfriend believes in her fairytale and her knight in shining armor. Through the years, I saw her earnestly wait for that guy and swallowed my own pride to catch with her bombshell dreams.

So I was ecstatic when he told me about him. A few weeks after, she introduced him and would invite me to third party their date. The few months, I saw my bestfriend strut through busy workload and stress with a smile. All the time, I saw stars in her eyes, I wondered if maybe I am wrong.

Then the above quoted words. I don't care if I won't have time to read the freaking assigned cases. This is one of those very seldom times I leave neverland and squeeze the humane in me. All for her, to hell with that guy-frog.

One word or act, and the fairytale starts to crumble. Snow White enticed by the redness of the apple, took a bite; Aurora, in her curiosity, touched that one thing she had never laid her eyes on ever. And that guy fucked the whole things up.

I am in no position to mutter "I told you so", but she let her fairytale crumble and told me I may be correct. From the person I least expected to agree with me, I felt like the evil witch in every tale.

And there, out of nowhere or maybe of desperation, I told her she did not do anything to be like me. I still believe she is the princess of her own fairytale and I don't want to be the one to blame when she ends up being the evil queen.

And just like that, I threw the black coat of cynicism and tried to weave back her aspirations of love and hope. Without the deep sleep, Snow White or Aurora won't get that true love's kiss. For a moment, I believed, for her sake.

Chances are, she's already crying herself to sleep now. And I was left lying in my bed, with books and papers scattered on the floor, thinking.

One guy told me I am in the borderline of misanthropy. I don't think I am. But the world is one wicked stepmother's poisonous apple, its beauty baneful, its sweetness deadly that left me nothing but doubt.