When you decided to be with me for the first time, I told you that I am a broken train; old, rusty, distant,  and wobbly. I am a person who lost his ability to recognize my surroundings. I couldn’t see clearly, because the locomotive of mine didn’t function to exhale its steam properly anymore, instead, it vomits too many mists that get in my way, causing the scenery ahead looks blury despite how it used to be familiar for me to begin with. It’s scary because I can’t see everything in the same way  I used to see, I told you once. Then I’ll be your eyes, you simply answered. I wanted to say no, you wouldn’t know, you didn’t know how it would put you into deep s once you decided to say that. But in the end I didn’t say anything, so maybe that was why you took my hand and hold it gently albeit a bit shyly. With every seconds you took to hold my fingers tighter, I counted how many seconds it’d take for me to make you leave, just like the previous ones, although deep, deep down inside my heart, I wanted another pair of eyes (and sadly I believed it a little, that it has to be yours) to see everything in a new point of view.