𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

Here are some collections of my inner voice,
Bottled and buried deep down in the depth of my heart,
Scribbled down on a piece of paper.
.
.
.
She sighs,and look through the window,
Waiting for the sun to shine,
So she could hide in the world of books.