Dreamer, you little munchkin.

It's not about him or her.

And definitely it's not about me and you

Or us. No, it's not.

It's just me and my thought.

Me and my dream.

Me and my own world.

When the sky is blue, the rain is pouring down like an old story in the fairy world.

The dream that I'll always wanted but you don't.

The fairy tales you always killed it before it grows nowhere in your wooden neck.

You'll always says life isn't a fairytales.

But you told me to live like that, to feels like that.

Is it fair to change the things that you already changed?

Again. It's just me and my stupid thought. My stupid human feelings.

I just wrote everything the time has changed you, and the time has changed me.

And it feels numb.

Feels numb to be tired or bored.

Waiting for the realistic world that you offered to me.

The thing is, well. Maybe, it is about you and me.