Small checkered boxes filled with numbers; all I remember are the stars stopping by the rainy nights. But are they any better than the tearful sunny days?
Lost in the sea of thoughts where nothing remain but the storm end; is endless light the hope of the universe?
Little broken dreams; as if you’d miss one of them if you ever fall asleep. Do you call it a good day or actually wake out of it?
Days, weeks, months and years, but all it seems like just hours have gone by. But will I ever live it all again? But will I ever breath the same? But will the time heal all the pain chipped on the wall? But will my heart ever learn to be kind again?
Turning pages with nothing new; the heart wants to give it all away. But will there still be the golden line of infinite tomorrow after the ashes are blown to dust?
Tell me, if it will all end or will I still be living my calendar days?