I wonder—why do my eyes always find you?
Was it that day I caught you staring, just once, on a sunny winter afternoon?
Or is it the way we always seem to cross paths, as if by fate?
I don’t know what this feeling is—
But whatever it is, I’m certain it’s one-sided.
And I know I must let it go.
Because seeing you, and saying nothing… is torturous.

Nothing's more creepier than a dream becoming real each passing day.

Three am and I woke up gasping for air to breathe while tears streaming down in my chubby cheeks. For the first time, I don't know what is real and what is fake, and what is wrongly perceived by my senses.

As I struggled to convince myself the idea of it that it did not happened, the more I was compelled to believe that it really did. The way I cried in the dream is the way I wailed tonight. Every plot of the dream turns to be more authentic than it ever did. The vivid details of my dream are coming like a kaleidoscope of horror movies I've watched as I continue to growl in agony.

And there is nothing I can do, but to continue watching myself.

Three am and I woke up gasping for air to breathe while tears streaming down in my chubby cheeks. For the first time, I don't know what is real and what is fake, and what is wrongly perceived by my senses.

Reality felt like a little less real.

From then on, I'm becoming less much in reality and I'm becoming more in my dreams. Everything I see around in this world looks faker and faker each breathe that I take.