It's not the matter of time of how long you have been live.

It's the matter of, how you live that long.

I've been growing up on someplace elsewhere that you might call it different than mostly general people are. 

Correct, that place is a special school that could only be entered by the kids whom having a highly level of intellectualism, plus, highly intuitive portion.

We call it the bureau. Back then—my fella and I are living it good when we got to attend into that school. But don't say it cool, hence, it ain't cool at all—with some psychopaths placed above on the upper level of our bureau?

I presume, that is totally not a cool thing. 

I think, till' now—I haven't properly explains it to you, what is actually the bureau that i've always mentioned beforehand. One thing for sure, this bureau are located in the western part of Java, in... Indonesia.

Well, the bureau is a place, a place that withhold some kind of a highly functioning kid just like I told you before. It's a psychological bureau—a home—for most of us, where anything in this world that happened to us are being considered by the people who are working in the bureau.

You might think that the bureau is some kind of an orphanage, or prison, you might. 

Well, it's not. 

It's not an orphanage, nor a prison—because most children here still got their parents behind. Okay, this bureau is perhaps a foster care. Now, the reason of why I wrote this kind of writing—is much simpler, kid.

It's to feel alive. A love to write down thought has been a basic lesson that they teaches it for us, for the kid in the bureau. Henceforth, I write this story.

I admit, that journey brings us onto another part of this universe that mostly, we did not realize.
. . . .

Every single day, I take my breath for meeting a larger version of myself. Analyzing, deducting, wrongly assuming on every subject I face. Being critical was also a part of it, being hated by the reality, is also, i frankly say, is the most bitter part of it.

There's no joy of inviting your hope to be the solution of those hectic life-problems, trust me kid.
. . . .

I often envy, my time for the people? are often bigger than my time for me. Than the people time for me. Thats being said, and it's been sad. In another word, every single piece of living—I'm being a vagabond looking for a rare quality of lover for me to share a bit of my little heart.

Sadly, my last love has passed away. Million memories banished, away in sorrow. I am trembling—seeking for my lost utopia. But nobody listen, nor they care, and it takes years that long to found another life-partner.

I sit, and listen back to my old sayings in the bureau, I'm keeping it close when it comes to life memories. I kept searching—dragging myself down to the fast-paced-living. I know I couldn't compare having her in my life. 

Even when she says "I'm not a selfish to be a little selfish."

You might know me, but you don't see me. Really, if you see me, you would leave me behind and get back along with your business.