Thursday, February 9, 2012

You're mine

When you can't even walk and yet, the meaning is so close at hand. The meaning of life. So close, yet so far.

Happiness is passing. I felt it for a while. Now, I should get back to life I have.

When everything is great; nothing is more loud than your laughter,
How rare is that?

How rare do you wish it would be?




You're mine. It's meant.





I spent my evening caring about them two. What are the results I said? Don't bother her, I said.
I needn't her to love me; I know I love her; I want her to be happy; what more is there to it?

And the other one, I wish she could be happy. But she tries not to be. I try for her to be. I don't know, it's chaotic.

2 comments:

  1. hm, možná by bylo vhodný poznamenat, že jsem to psal celkem pod parou. Taky by možná nebylo uplně zcestný zopakovat mojí teorii o tom, že ožralý lidi nelžou, akorát si domýšlí.

    ReplyDelete