why do we return to old places?
not because it's familiar. not because it's what we know.
we go back so that we can see these experiences in a different color and a different light.
but when I look at this world, nothing changes for me. it is dark and cold and bleak and nothing ever changes to me. there is no method to the madness that is life.
so why is there life? why were we born?
we were not born to be happy or perfect; we were born to find our purpose.
and mine? I haven't quite figured that out yet.
-snow
YOU ARE READING
b l u r r y f a c e
Poetry"my name is Blurryface and i care what You think" | a series of short instances where a girl cares too much about the others and not enough for herself, so this becomes an outlet for her thoughts and feelings | (and yes, that was a |-/ reference)
