We are all messes of ourselves, and yet somehow the pieces always make a puzzle. Advertisements
I suppose we are all walking on a path of dust to the mountains.
Counting freckles in the mountains.
I’ll happily drown if you’ll be there too.
I looked up and saw the Milky Way painted across the sky like it wasn’t real and it made me feel like, really, neither was I.
Perhaps I should have known.