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The world's crumbling inside me as the fumes exhaled and everything starts coming back to me, pieces, and pieces, and more pieces of them, where i'll pick them up slowly, and walk back the path which was meant to be mine. In every bad dream telling myself it's just a dream, and waking up the next moment everything passed by. For this moment, so much for hoping i'll never wake up, never ever.

Flipping through the pages where chapters were pre-written in every novel, and coming to the next, to write my own. That empty page, and wondering what have i done wrong, to deserve this slow and painful process, excruciating pain.