No matter where you are, you're always a bit on your own, always an outsider.
Everything that had happened was shockingly beautiful, enough to make you crazy.
Truly happy memories always live on, shining. Over time, one by one, they come back to life.
When was it I realized that, on this truly dark and solitary path we all walk, the only way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love, I was always lonely. Someday, without fail, everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time.
Love is the kind of thing that's already happening by the time you notice it, that's how it works, and no matter how old you get, that doesn't change. Except that you can break it up into two entirely distinct types -- love where there's an end in sight and love where there isn't.
The sky was incredibly far away, and beautiful enough to make a person wonder why our hearts are never so free.
I love feeling the rhythm of other people's lives. It's like traveling.
As I grow older, much older, I will experience many things, and I will hit rock bottom again and again. Again and again I will suffer; again and again I will get back on my feet. I will not be defeated. I won't let my spirit be destroyed.
What was important wasn't the fireworks, it was that we were together this evening, together in this place, looking up into the sky at the same time.
Sometimes people put up walls, not to keep others out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.
Last Update: 23 October 2021
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