There's somehow a hole,
a void deep inside,
maybe it's fated,
maybe there's reasons.

We roam the road,
just ride,
some with purposes,
some just go along.

Some hurting,
some happy,
either way we're incomplete.

We crave  the other half,
looking for the missing pieces
of the puzzle,
to feel every spectrum,
of colors existed.

Maybe it's meant to be
that we're only half,
void inside,
because if we're whole,
we're not living.