It's All Gone, Now.
we used to run up hills just to pick daises and scream to the sky, a mess of laughter muffled the winds cries. i find it ironic that i now feel as if i'm a tree with roots that attatch me permanently to this town. why is it that i'm dehydrated and begging for the suns forgiveness? a tree can't live long with no sunlight or water, you know. even in a different form i am still unsymmetrical, my collar bones are never in place nor do my paintbrushes fall to the canvas right. birds land on my branches but the wind sends them flying.
its like the oceans currents have come above the sea. rip tides are pulling me under, and my legs are becoming weaker with each tread. the streetlights that light up nothing and trains that lead no where make my head pound. buses toll people around only to end up on another empty street corner, yet again writing in this little black book of mine. i want to leave it somewhere just to see what happens, with all the letters to the world in it and all. i suppose the sky would bleed and my heart would rain, but anyways. Love never does leave.
i mailed you a letter today. it told a story, do you remember?
we used to ride ninety miles an hour just to feel wind in our hair.
But that's all gone, now.
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