Created in A5, using ball point pen.

They say the wrinkles in the skin are the proof of wisdom and experience gained through years of battle called life. What do we call a soul, who lived for millennials, lived through patches of existence, each time alive with empathy and dead with reality. Is villain always bad? Is hero always good? Is the nuance always gray? Who says that? What happens when the brightest sunflower is dead beneath a dandelion and no one ever noticed. What of the bluest sky with a rainbow and the barren land beneath it? Carrying the burdens of the future and shadows of the Past, sinking down below the abyss, no one to hear and no one to dance. Music plays the mockery of trials and never have they ever looked forward. Life still goes on, but some still stuck in the same dimension when time stopped and they never lived, never fought back, and even the bare minimum was snatched.