I walked in some frail unsettleing memories, peircing through my mind every now and then. I see all these things around, embellished in so much of affection and i curse myself for being that only woman who can never love enough to bring back the lost.How far have you travelled that it's tough enough to come back and peep once, to know if things are okay !
there's nothing beautiful about it , you'll see the old frail lady, on her creeking bed in a mousse state. She'll call you in numerous ways, contact you in your private most cottage where no soul shall make a noise yet, you will ignore her voice. However far u may go ; hide somewhere or build yourself a home of Hide, my love for you will not lower down. You've taken things for granted and i forgot who I was.
Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. look at all those culs-de-sac, those dream like streets that were built to fall apart.Everything demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I've lived here for longer years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters as much I could have .
No comments:
Post a Comment