Two loud children throw rocks at the birds.
Cars come and go,
But I stay here looking at the world.
I hear laughter; I hear the sound
Of a tiny life falling from the sky to the ground
The innocent can be brutal sometimes
Frozen eyes can’t travel. I can’t destroy this distance,
But my heart dreams of you in a rainy country
Almost a year has passed.
Whenever I catch myself reading my own old posts late at night, I already know how the next day will be like: full of nostalgia and what ifs. Ah, good times. Not that good when they were happening, but now that said days are in the past, we look back and say “GOOD TIMES” — good times, yes! Wasn’t the world so wonderful? Ah, but wait. No. Things are better now.
I’m still the same fool, I just have a different object of affection now. If I really have any.
Go to bed, Lira. But you’re in bed already, Lira. Close your eyes, Lira. Stop talking to yourself, go sleep. Forget your damn laptop, Lira. And put your phone down. Get a grip. G’night, Lira.
Okay, 15 more minutes.