"The aroma of coffee...

Blank diary awaits

The spinning fan

And the ticking clock on the wall

As the rain falls down

SILENT. SERENE... THE LOUDEST SCREAM

That regular rhythm

That common music

The epitome of loneliness

Before you ever come

Or even after you've gone

And the following day"

I wonder why being myself become the thing that you hate when you asked me to turn away from being... me. Am I happy for not being myself?