Under the ribbons we left in the lake
Back at the parties our friends couldn’t make
With you on the armchair
Me on the box
We’re making up memories
In cellophane talks

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Has life always been this difficult to tackle head-on? It’s enough to go insane and start making up our own backstories. Our own history lies in the hands of what we’re willing to believe. If that dares to become our reality, what kinds of lands await us? I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to leave it all behind. I want to stay. But I need to, with my hands. Accepting another’s help, does it make me weak? I don’t think so. But, I feel so. I’m of two minds about this. Both are idealistic, both are assertive, and sometimes they fight.