sooner or later, the lights will go out
the childhood lights that write my story
the dress i wore on xmas eve. pretty, ain't it?
don't you let me go - it's something i can't control
well it's hard to live in the city, i've heard
new favourite earrings
a heartbeat later and the flash is gone
days of words and wonder
a war of blood silencing those pages of mine
somewhat kind, somewhat harsh. that was how she tended to describe it.
some evening inspiration
by fashiontoast.com
come one now hold me, come now heal me
sankta lucia
winter shoes
i just don't know. ugh shut up.
Voices, from too far back, resurface and you swallow, desperately trying to push them down, back, lock them inside that box you created especially for them. They can't come back now. It's not the right time.
It's not that you didn't know, you just thought you'd be able to tell when they decided to come back. Apparently, you didn't. They're there now, rushing through your head, blowing your mind away, and you stare at the computer screen. Screw it.
yeah i told him so but he refused to listen
i'd rather see myself as an observer, not a judger
