this little girl is a wanderer of no end. a wanderer who, amidst all moonless night and no stellar, have her mind pondering queries about things she hasn't thought about once in a while. just like when did every hue of yesterday meet its demise? when was the last time she colored her dresses, widened her grins, and lived for all meaning? what even was the day when she thought that all pieces of her came back in its right place? when was the exact moment where she has a path to follow? or did it even exist in all realities of her tomorrow? was it not a reverie she deluded herself to feel alive?
'o how did even a small wanderer such as her walk through all fire and ignite throughout her path? was she strong or just plainly stupid for she knows she'll burn, yet, she took the liberty to shake hands with fire? does she owe herself to burn for the world? or will she burn down the world with her? 'o what a wanderer she was and a wanderer she has become. a wanderer—even with bugs in her mind to fulfill—doesn't stop searching for all the meaning of breathing. a wanderer who, in countless reveries and untold dreams, kept thriving. a wanderer who, with ponderous boulders and chains of yesterday, continued to grasp every zenith. and a wanderer who, despite all the chaos and doubts, hoped for all tomorrow to caress her with leisure—even with the fire scalding through her soul.
