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THIS IS MY LOT, BEAUTIFUL STRANGERS.
 The skies' a grey sheet of sympathetic background and we soak up the rain in all its glorious lustre. The wind's a tyrant to the frailest and most concrete of arrangements but you say we'll brave the despot of a storm with our hands holding on to the sheer strength of one relentless grasp. But for a moment I forget the oppression and see that the most beautiful of things can still be found in the most flawed, in the eyes of another warm epitome of a human soul. When the incessant downpour ceases, when your bright yellow raincoat has lost its sturdiness and the skin between our hands loses friction, I want you to find this gift, in the dry hands of another, in the warmth of a summer's day. If as one we are everything, I'd stay a thankful halve when we finally see the rays of a whole new chapter, the shores of a whole new bay. TonFlyingHigh!5:29 PM *** |
Behind The Wheel; 
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