If I close my eyes, I feel closer to eternity.

Life is my writer and I am only writing the emotions I bleed.

The world is painted in blue and grey.

We are waiting for the spring flowers to bloom.

Hoping onto hope itself that maybe there is life after this.

That there will be one more time to live under the sun.

Maybe even cherish all the things we’ll never see the same again.

Did we let the panic go to our heads?

The paranoia that we had before only continues to grow.

Not all of us want to understand things beyond this life,

So we make the greatest thing in the world seem insignificant.

We have deemed ourselves worthy to write our own stories.

We’ve become sensitive to sadness thinking our every pain has to be rewarded.

I used to be afraid to say that I didn’t mind the pain.

Maybe because I always believed that the pain was making me stronger.

The easy road was always in front of me, I just didn’t take it.

I can’t be blamed for believing in my strength to overcome.

Maybe not today, but someday.

And somehow they would simply understand why I did what I did.

So much freedom that only seems to make the loneliness transparent.

Loneliness that closes in, sometimes at night, or in daydreaming.

Feeling vulnerable is part of life, and loneliness is not always an enemy.

But if life wants to shake you, I must follow the movements.

Granted, we aren’t always in control of the next moment.

Maybe if we accepted this, life would be kinder to us tomorrow.


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