The tangled, curly swirls of hair. 

An unfinished muffin, bitten three quarters of its skin. 

The dead, locked navy fabrics of waves,

Covered the arrows of the sun scarring onto her face, 

The messy blue, white, and black clothes sleeping on her bed. 

A clean, clear, but cold field of emptiness. 

Missing roses, daisies, and lily. 

Everything undone and left alone

Isolated on a woman’s island. 

An island that was thrown from the planet Earth to Pluto by the hands of her own power. 

Home, an island that is far from Earth, 

Reminds me of Sho. 

Sho always tells me that she’s a dreamer, 

Timeless and senseless. 

Her mind pulls herself into the metamorphosis as she neglects everything around her, 

Intentionally forgetting the world. 

She always stands at the center of everything, 

Even though she has the strength to stand at the end of either sides, 

She choose to stand at suffering vocals between point A and point B. 

Thriving through the chaos, running like a wildfire was her second nature. 

I am a dreamer, 

That’s what she would always say. 

I'm a dreamer. 

Everyone around looks down to see the height she was born to reach. 

But she always say, 

“I am a dreamer.” 

When perceptions collides with perspectives, 

When all the fragments of beliefs scraps the skin of reality, 

Day by day, 

Her reality divides itself, 

As she offers her hand to fantasy. 

Her mind and soul are the fantasies.