Fromthedistant.

She doesn't know but, sometimes its killing himself from within. The way out is so thin, of a fine thread. The beating heart compressed together, stopping the blood flow over him. Sometimes he just wants to know what he was, who he was, why was he doing so, what did he do.

"What went wrong perhaps?" He asked. He could not answer.
"I should stop." He hesitated. He could not stop.
"Breath another air, maybe." He said. He could not find the same air.

What did he want?

To share the same colour, the same air, the same view. He wishes but untrue. Even for one single second, if his shoes were worn by her, he'd hope she understands that from the distant, he'd like her to see, from his eyes, his clouds and the blue sky he longed for all these years...