I miss someone,
but I’m missing the other.



Suppose that it is just no man can live by and for himself, the condition could be mush easier with all those unnecessary passed things.
But how the truth develops is totally like the fucking dust moving. It’s not fun, and I’m not enjoying.
It must be something wrong here.
Why do I have to cover for everyone hasn’t noticed…
I do not want to pretend to be like those people who are like you.
Because I’m fucking loving you; but the worst things have come true.
I daren’t dream about what all dreams you made and got ready.
I also get ready for waiting for you.
All folly; all unworthy things.
All my fucking dreams.
I know what’s going on in reality.
I just fail to love other one except you.
And it hasn’t stop; it would take long before I ‘m not feeling sad as recording you.