sketching the sun on this canvas we call our hearts. and i’ve given in too many times that giving up just seems so tempting. at least it spares us the struggle of getting back on our feet. i’m so sick of seeking refuge, of being stuck in this hollow comfort between walls i’ve grown so close to. becoming deaf to words around me, blind to the beauty in so many faces that have passed me by. as we rely on others to pick up the brush and start painting, to loosen the stitches to our wounds, wipe our conscience clean of mistakes we've made. and in the end it's all were stuck with. a soundtrack, a tragedy, a smile. maybe a house somewhere we use to call home. a couple of dusty pictures. this blood is our own. its vessel our home. its beat our melody. our random song. i retrace the steps back to where i began to obsess with the absolute truth that i saw in you, and “choose any part of my body to keep”, i’ll say. but let me return with a mind and a heart open to a world that i fucking forgot while i was too busy holding on to a world that i never truly needed. but nevertheless, i guess we´ll never be prepared for this. and frankly, i don’t really give a shit anymore. sadly, i merely have a handful of spare truths left. and honestly, don’t bother to listen to me - i’ve chosen this. standing in the cloud’s shadow it’s not too hard to recognize the chance of rain, were it not for the way it feels on our skin. if only it weren’t for the beautiful smell.
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