Day by day, the words seems reluctant to spill from my mind. Even a phrase seems like a 100 pages narration for me to made. Really hate this circumstances, as if the time would eat me, drowning me into the bottom of it distinctness.
I'm technology babies, can't live beneath skimble-skamble long story for a day. If i could i would move to antartica, i will dig an inland cave, no one just me and my harp. And again, i wish i have one, i wish i play some.
This harmony, is way to imbalance. To reset, to restructure, to construct from zero are my desire. Hence, the pattern of the neverending saga, will stay apparent. Then the clement will remain.
Play that string of major tunes. The sadness will no longer occur. Strive back from old wound. I'm the one who control my route. Until the boundless magnitude are in my clasp.
Vanish into thin air, all corners of the world are of my sight. I'll be gone then back home when I'm needed. I'll be gone then back home when I'm completed. I'll be the construct of myself.
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