There are times when it feels as though ghosted traffic screams through you as you stand on a deserted road, struck by a realisation so severe that neither awe nor fear can translate the design.
How different we are. How different.
Neither logic nor love works on those who have lost their fight, for they wish to no longer believe. A choice.
Time only works to strengthen their cause, their resolve; a victory of sorts. But such triumph can only bring grief to those that have already left. Disappearing footprints remain as a testament over the void that the darkness now fills. Already at a different plane.. A purer rise. To suffer is to return, and in return, to suffer is waived. And to move beyond is to bid all a disdainful farewell. A choice.
I cannot.
1 comment:
I actually understand this one :)
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