Always falling, Broken Hearted.
yes, this is about you
no, this isn’t about you
this is about me
this is me
when we peel away the onion layers of my self in search of me this is what we ultimately find like a grail to heal and make sacred all those who go in quest of it:
Always Falling, Broken Hearted.
Alone, awake while everyone slumbers, this is absolute freedom. You and the moon.
The world passes these strange hours with gentle rustles, distant chimes and a comfortable chill.
Nocturnal wandering between these lines on paper, searching only for now.
Beyond the reach of love or fear… but not sadness. Beauty has its own sadness.
Does it make sense to grieve a dream,
to mourn a fantasy,
to feel loss for what you never had,
or are these tears for nothing?