Spring has yet to come, upon the subtle shutting of her eyes,
The curtain call approaches the soon Narcisusses peered the sidewalks,
Wounding up the wilts and calling it quits,
Spring has yet to come, piercing you with the resounding shrills of her well-written elegy.

Advancing the storyline, bouncing back unto the ripple that hazes in the distance,
Distances upon distances, drawing each crack with glittering gloss,
It'd fine as long as we feign ignorance, a stance about to slip its way out.

I don't want to be scarred
Nor mind the half teared calendar

Washed out sunset etching the back of my head,
It told me that things were not meant to be as it is from the moment,
I kept wishing that it could
just
stay
this way

That's weird... It tasted bland than before
It should be the same, I uttered
It is the same, what am I saying?

I then bought turon from the stall I always loved
Though the man selling them scared me the same
Its delicate sweetness made sure I kept coming back for more
And as always, they sold it the same
It tasted the same, and so is the milktea I have on the other hand

It didn't reach anyone, it shouldn't
It could be for the worst

let's keep it as it is

reach my hands without ever holding its shape

The cackling of pencil, I so hope to tingle the tip of your ears,
Pluck these red strings,
Find me, lost in the scent of your never-ending burning incense

I hope you find me in an empty classroom,
Drawing someone you solely love,
Endearingly, may it reach your cosmos,
I'll have it framed into the hall of your memories,

why😭😭😭