we might not always be connected,
on that silly website in the internet;
we might not always find time,
to create a perfect rhyme;
we might not always share,
our worries and everything we bare;
we might not always vibe,
without the feel of purpose to be alive;
and we might not always think to open up,
because of our anxiety telling there is a gap...
... always think that there will always be a place for our silly discourse
and remember to only sleep forever once that you are free of remorse.
—to that one pure person i randomly met
YOU ARE READING
capricious style
Aléatoirea compilation of written work that lacks firmness, and instead, is full of sudden changes. genre: random // english
