Every day she would shed little pieces of her personality,
Every day she would abandon a part of her unique self,
Every day she died, just a little.
Surrounded herself with the people, she could care less about.
For the ghosts of the past would come haunting, whenever she was alone.
She, who would love to ponder, now hated the self-talk.
She, who loved the solitude, now can’t dare to stay back.
Lost somewhere behind those glasses,
Amidst those line of codes,
She was nowhere to find…
Day by day, piece by piece,
She was gone has been gone for a while now…