like starting war, like spilling ink. like the empty street you swore you saw before you blinked.
there s no second thought, there s no turning back. there s no calling off this avalanche.
every day, now spent underneath white flags. every intention, eclipsed by every stain of the past.
there s no argument- fairness is a ghost. there s no argument- it is a rare bird at the most.
but every sighting is proof. and every heart-beat proves it too: that only love can change the shape of such permanent truths. of such permanent truths. such permanent truth.