Remember, it's my reverie, not yours.
Sulking for the reason that no one does ever thought of me as the fore friend they could run into in times of distress.
But then I tumble upon this, that I for a fact also doesn’t come running to anyone when I am a moping soul who’s spirit is a mess.
Comforting my heart, convincing it that thy self is better off not being anyone's confidante for I cannot bear the burden.
However, the mind follows defiantly for it fathoms and will never be fooled, that I wanted to be a friend to a dear one and trot on when needed.
