I see everything, the world around me, as songs and poems. I don't think people understand me, at all, and nor do they need to, but it just complicates a man's road at times. Why justify what is clearly special dust? I break hard but it's hard to break.
The more I travel around, the more I see there are simply women everywhere, of all kinds of shapes and sizes, and hearts and faces, all kinds of ways that they possess, and they are woven into every single little thing. And breathe...
Have you ever thought about waking up in the morning and doing everything differently, of breaking the routine? What drove you not to? Was it fear, or committments, or you just didn't know how to carve a path that wasn't thrust into your way? Propel me to do something, from my own heart, not the chasm from whence others force advice upon us.
I hurt so much from missing you, and for so long. I've thought recently that I'd never make it back to see you again. That none of my life had been real, it was just an intense series of dreams. Maybe that isn't far from the truth, and how will we ever really be sure of anything.
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