There had always been something hidden in me.
It was something undeniably mysterious and ironic.
There was a soul - but no heart.
I felt nothing - neither pain nor anger.
Love, fear, sorrow, melancholy - nothing but complete void.
But I know I could feel others'.
Their emotions, their passions and their dreams.
I could feel theirs, but never mine.
I flew off to places, just searching.
For a heart that was never mine.
I wanted to know what others do.
I yearned to feel what others feel.
But it was all just futile attempts.
I was foolish for believing and dreaming.
A foolish being who wanted to live.
Just the mere sight of my mast