Without my wings, the world seems to be as dark as the universe. The dews of heaven are dropping when the heart is missing from me. The melancholy comes from nowhere. Suits me. Stuck here, waiting, for the right moment and a right person. On the other side, however, bright is the color, imagining is the habit, crazy is the symbol, and cachinnation is the routine... a weird dew...
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home