It's a passing fantasy. A disjointed idea that has become undeniably numb and won't cease or disist when you wake up one cold and dark winter morning and realize that she's gone and that the time is gone and the only way to even attempt to get it back is to sell your soul to the devil and hope that by some fraction of uncertainty everything will inevitably revert back to a time when the only shelter you were seeking was reliably and directly across the street. So I guess that means its my time to shine and see the lights reflect numbingly back in my own direction, in the direction that's only a hop, skip and a jump away.
it's kind of one of those feelings you don't even want to describe, because the way you feel is never as good as the way you could explain it to another person. i think it has something to do with being unafraid, though. unafraid of other people. and i like that.
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It's a passing fantasy. A disjointed idea that has become undeniably numb and won't cease or disist when you wake up one cold and dark winter morning and realize that she's gone and that the time is gone and the only way to even attempt to get it back is to sell your soul to the devil and hope that by some fraction of uncertainty everything will inevitably revert back to a time when the only shelter you were seeking was reliably and directly across the street. So I guess that means its my time to shine and see the lights reflect numbingly back in my own direction, in the direction that's only a hop, skip and a jump away.
it's kind of one of those feelings you don't even want to describe, because the way you feel is never as good as the way you could explain it to another person. i think it has something to do with being unafraid, though. unafraid of other people. and i like that.
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