"Sometimes I wish the world wasn't round, I'm tired of running."
And then the nod, turns to a stare, melts the truth with another dare. It's fools gold. Just like your handshake, barely embraced, tastes a dull shade of grey. It glistened at first thought, unravels and freys the same way. You turn pages to the end, race the day only to start again. But now 2 steps become 12, flip the cup to be filled again. Not water, not wine. It cuts, but I'm twisting into the prettiest vine. You'll see, we'll all see.
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2 comments:
Written down in my head. 52 Saturdays
oOoo i read this in ny but couldnt comment...
loveage..
love it
love you
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