quarta-feira, 11 de junho de 2014

Maybe lost, maybe not.

Slowly fading after days of no rest. What else could it be? The age of a long-time walker? No! That'd make you an old man. Counting all the secrets and having them burned, oh what piles of books awaiting its turn. Nothing is as it was, or used to be, or how even you'd see it. Maybe you're the one who grew...never thought.
I see you lonely, every night, every day. And recovering from a night of pleasure has lost its spark. You shine differently, you see? But yet your eyes look away. You avoid the confrontation of the who you came to be...you, all over again. Look at what you've done, where you've been, how you've loved. Power over your own existence. 
You ain't lost...not yet. But those little affairs get you tired. Maybe more tired than before, and you're scared. Scared of walls, of the future, of the present and dogs and wales. You lost that freedom, I see it now. Stuck in a moment. Afraid to lose it all, again and again.
Time to face north, to engage on all that's left. Time to feel that feeling. You can still come back.

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