(no subject)
I've been writing a lot again recently.
I was writing in school on Thursday, but I left my paper in the common room, then when I went to get it back it was gone.
I really want it back.
Whatever they were to the world they become everything to you.
When you look them in the eyes, traveling to the depths of their souls and you say a million things without trace of a sound.
You know that your own life is inevitable consumed within the rhythmic beatings of their very heart.
We love them for a million reasons, no paper would do it justice.
It is a thing not of the mind but of the heart.
A feeling.
Only felt.
I was writing in school on Thursday, but I left my paper in the common room, then when I went to get it back it was gone.
I really want it back.
Whatever they were to the world they become everything to you.
When you look them in the eyes, traveling to the depths of their souls and you say a million things without trace of a sound.
You know that your own life is inevitable consumed within the rhythmic beatings of their very heart.
We love them for a million reasons, no paper would do it justice.
It is a thing not of the mind but of the heart.
A feeling.
Only felt.