Friday, May 13, 2005

How did I find the heart to do it? How did it die?

Why do I feel that the more days go by, the less I know? And the less I know, the more I hide.

It shouldn't be this way. Pleas and promises- not listened, not broken. Simply hardened, simply gone.

Maybe it's a question of loving too much. And a means of hurting the same.

I'm a bird with a broken wing, and I can't remember how to fly. I used to remember myself soaring.


Laid bare at 9:03 pm
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