my words might wash up against your shore in torn up shreds each scribbled letter faded obscured by time obscured by rippling waves that thrash and tear each piece left vague dowsed in mystery and a lingering a longing to be read
soon maybe next time i'll be mature enough to put them in a bottle.
it's sad to think you've fallen for his pretty face, and the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he keeps you up for days... it's sad to know he doesn't really care, and all of this was just a show because he's run by softwares. it's hard to wake up and face the reality that he never once existed and was only brought to life by mere imaginations and thanks to you, you've been keeping him alive.
it's sad to hear him say, "thanks for playing!" when he's your only escape amidst your tiresome journey through life.
got so much immersed in a game and sometimes forget they never really existed despite casually talking about them with my friends every single day.