Questions.

"Why are you so quite?" 

I don't know. That's how people read me. I become quite when I got sad, or mad, or when I got so much in mind. I don't know. I visit places I've ever been with you, alone. I thought I've missed the place. Like being homesick for so long until my head hurts. It's not. Fuck.

"Why are we keep hurting each other like this?"

I don't know. Maybe it's our rhythm, maybe it suits us best without we even realize it. Maybe that's what we do best, you know? To hurt each other's feelings and pretend to be okay. Like it is supposed to be. 

"Why are you crying?" 

I don't know. Because it's not that I miss the place, I realized this wasn't homesick, this was way even worse. It's just I'm so sick of wanting so much to see you but I couldn't.