I was going out to throw the rubbish. There are still couple of cars running on the street. They are running in to the thick, dense darkness that seemingly nothing could ever penetrate. A quiet night on September. I smell fermentation of the long been repressed emotions. I’ve held my tears for too long and now there’s noting to shed. They withered, like flowers misplaced in the desert. It’s about a past lover. A love once so intense has reduced to fewer than one hundred words. It was not my fault. Time cures. Time destroys. We are supposed to look forward rather than look back. That’s why we do not have eyes in the back of our head. We were never omnipotent. 

8 months ago  /  1 note