…what happens when you returnand find nothingbut a hollowed shell,shingles and floor,walls and echoesand the light that lead you herehas now burned outand the ones who built ithave traveled afarand you cant go to them,no matter what shoes you wear.
Maybe Heaven will be a library. Then I will be able to finish my to-read list.
Sing me a love song in a slow, southern drawl to the tune of sunny days…
Winter is much like unrequited love; cold and merciless.
I have yet to be completely submerged in reality, for drowning in the sky.
…and the smoke that creeps off the tip of my cigarette and into the dim, scattered strands of light leaking off the moon, in through the clefts in the curtains, is much like my spirit trying to escape the burn of yesterday’s presence.
I love how summer just wraps it’s arms around you like a warm blanket.
You are alone”Rose colored memories drown,taking their last breath.
Maybe Heaven will be a library and then I might get to finish my ‘to-read’ list.