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Or have I not become?

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Am I still here?

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The stars, though in different places, are still there.

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Much like the ebb of the ocean's floor as it waves gently on the shore.

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“Much like the ebb of the tide as it moves gently along the shore.”

(Logical version, as was told the ocean's floor do not ebb)

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Even still, it beats.

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All I know is that, all along, I kept lying to my heart.

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My heart never actually stopped beating—from back then until now.

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Will I still be the same?

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With all the adventuring I’ve been doing, the books I kept—piled and collected—are now covered in dust.

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I wonder how long it has been.

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Sometimes in the most trivial, sometimes minute and at times it won't be clear unless you could see the bigger picture.

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Sometimes in the most trivial of ways, sometimes minute—and at times, clarity won’t arrive until the bigger picture comes into view.

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It's in the detail.

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Even the trees, the grass, the moon, the stars—sometimes even the ocean.

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Anything can actually bleed. It just depends on how you see it.

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At some point of time or matter, anyone can bleed.

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“I actually don’t know,” said the wise man to himself.

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Would you, by then, come out as a hero?

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All they only knew was they would both go on forever.

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He was never ready. She was unprepared.

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Though she didn't know he was about ready to die just to tell her the truth.

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Though she didn’t know he was almost ready to die just to tell her the truth.

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She was aware of all the tales he told her.

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She knew of his lies.

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But he knew it was eating him from the inside.

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He could keep lying, just so in order to be with her.

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Unknown to us, there are those who sees us heroes, creatures from other world, beings unreachable, or dreams like foreign entity.

No matter how trivial or small we may one day see ourselves of what we do or currently doing, to some we are no trivial matter; to some we are not small.

It's unfortunate that it is unknown to us. But it really is.

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Unknown to us, there are those who see us as heroes—creatures from other worlds, beings unreachable, or dreams like foreign entities.

No matter how trivial or small we may one day see ourselves or what we do, to some, we are no trivial matter; to some, we are not small.

It’s unfortunate that it is unknown to us. But it really is.

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You're drowning. And all you're doing is adding more tears in the ocean you're sinking in.

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You’re drowning, and all you’re doing is adding more tears to the ocean you’re sinking in.

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Do you have to kill yourself for the good fight?

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Eternity does not have to be long if you try to give meaning to every moment.

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Eternity doesn’t have to be long if you give meaning to every moment.

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When you place your hand on the world, are you carrying it with one hand across the universe or are you gently patting her recognizing how she carries you?

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When you place your hand on the world, are you carrying it with one hand across the universe, or are you gently patting her—recognizing how she carries you?

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But at that moment, the rest, no matter how trivial or untrivial, they won't. It's just yourself and the world, no one else.

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But at that moment, the rest—no matter how trivial or not—they won’t matter. It’s just you and the world. No one else.

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No, they won’t need lyrics. The world will let you understand them.

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When the world speaks and you listen, the rest becomes music.

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It will burn you if you hold it from the wrong end.

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Before bravery, there is exists caution.

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They're afraid of fire. That is why they couldn't see.

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You just have to accept it.

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When you see beauty, there is this certainty, ugliness too exists.

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The invisible are what truly essential, so the fox says.

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The less and most trivial are easily visible.

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When, in fact, it is our duty to take notice, to pay heed.

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They are hardly noticed.

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They do not see miracles.

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Heroes will be heroes, no matter what world they are in.

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In our youth, the world is tasked to understand us. And as we grew older, we are assigned to be the world.

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They were all smiling. They know most of them won't make it back alive. But they're going home.

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One of the best way to kill yourself is to never live.

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And there will be heroes instead of saving others find themselves saved. It doesn't have to be a burning building that they're saved from. Nor does it have to be a train they're trying to outrun. They just get saved.

A lot of times, these heroes are saved by the most minute things. They aren't trivial, just very hard to see miracles that unbelievably happens more than once every now and then.

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What matters?

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We are trivial.

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The silver lining between clouds are much the same to an ant as the lines between leaves among the branches.

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The sea waves goodbye to the horizon.

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You are, anyway, a hero born in a world where heroes are not needed.

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Or at the very least, help souls save themselves.

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You will save so many lives.

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A smile will be your epitome.

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By then, I hope you'll die content.

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Someday, your dreams will kill you.

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It will come back to you. I swear in it.

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It's different for any of us. Certainly paths may look the same, but stories told will be different.

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As for those who knows the ways and mentions they came back. They have not yet found the way.

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You're either lost or found your way. You never know where you're going, right from the start.

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There is actually no point in denying things.

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It's either you're in love or not. There's nothing in between.

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Unknowingly, you became a cage to a place you call home.

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It became true.

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I waited for your lie to never happen.