i'm just a piece of white paper,
you were a coloured paper,
filled with so many colours,
i was not able to comprehend all the colours you had,
but seeing you being filled with so many colours,
and standing here by the side letting you absorb all those colours,
i'm fine with being a plain, old, ripped, white paper.
YOU ARE READING
butterflies flames
Randomare we real? or are we just actors living through our lives with no true purpose?
