The simplest human pysche is a sunflower.
We all grow towards the Sun that are things and people and places that put us at ease.
The numbers on a clock is time. It could be a countdown to the future or tallies of the past. Our days are numbered and my soul is burning as I fucking doubt my feelings every second of the day.
One take pride in growing towards light and against time.
There isn't a day this week which I don't think how much my throat will burn if I hear your voice anytime soon. But you know, love? We worn out our lights so long ago, like all the stars that still shine, but they would have lost their fire many lives before.
Humans, as we are, will never outlive the stars. Immortality is not how God engineered us.
I want to accept my feelings as it comes and as it bypasses me in this short time I have.
My sun is rainy days and the shying of golden rays.
One whom I trust with all of me purely.
Truly.
