I'm afraid of you yet I crave so madly for you. Afraid that you'll be another illusion that will be faded. I'm fazed. I wonder if there's any moment you will just come up to me and just look into my eyes. Will you see all those unspoken words? Or what's left now is just an empty soul. I can't find myself anymore. I felt like I'd left my soul with you and I crave to get it back. To feel me being me again. As I watched you throw the punches, I'm left helpless. Blankly I stare. I was afraid. Afraid to breakdown when I saw you broken. I'm not a mender, I can't patch things up. I want to help but seems like those pieces would pierce through the tips. And yet, I still walked on it. Like the soul did. It stepped on broken pieces. Like many did, broken pieces of one or many masterpieces. Creation by environment, I saw the blood dripped. Tried to reach for a plaster to patch up the wound but was left with nothing by the scent that was carried along the wind. What's left now? A finger tip with a drip, to a rest or to chase along the scent? A familiarity or nothing but a dream