I reached out the other day for a hand but I didn't get the touch that I wanted. I believe that sometimes that is disguised by something else that is not you so that you don't have to feel it anymore, because I know it was hard.
You still don't get why I called an end to anything, but i am okay with it, because when I look at the way the lights glow along that path, and the way the pink seems to catch the water when im running away from life and things that I wish would never happen, but don't seem to do anything about, I remember that we exist only in a world that is of a black sky and a pretty scene, and that only could take place on that month, at that time when all was blurry to me anyways,
but no one ever knew that except you.

the blacks and the blues and espescially the oranges have faded, but I get the glimpse when the word is moving faster then it should and I am pulling on every inch of myself to get somewhere that the path that every one else is one is.

I forget what im talking about.