Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence.
this far or further, I need to know.
And your hand is held open, intentionally.. or just what I want to see?
I don’t normally beg for assistance — I rely on my own eyes to see.. but right now you make no sense to me.
standing still is like running on ice—I only gain a little distance when I fall… tired of telling myself it’s okay to be this tired. this sick and tired of the turns the world takes and the people that it makes us be.
Excuse me, are you lost? Perhaps you would care to visit the site map