The story begins, on that fateful night, Where nothing is sacred, not even the light, And the howl of some
I can’t hold on to a single thought. There’s lots of them, they’re swirling, and they’re frightening, but I can’t
Happiness, as everything else in life, is fleeting. It is temporary. This is not scary, or negative. It’s a fact.
If you can, at any point in life, be the person who decides when to cross at traffic signals, irrespective of their colour.
The fourth beat; I know it’s coming, and I calm myself. The body is still in shock, but my mind
That feeling you get when you’ve let yourself down. It’s something else, isn’t it? The core fact that it’s solely