Pen in hand, I can trace this letters along the paper, making imperfect words, turning into phrases of dispair.
The feeling of pain, the vast layout, everything blurs, getting a hold of your feelings, so you wouldn't forget.
All of the words
you wanted to deliver.
All of the feelings
you wanted to express.
Many points will be a line,
and connect two far-away places together.
All of the sounds
you wanted to make.
All of the confessions
you wanted to declare.
Many lines will turn into a circle,
and connect many different persons together.
