I don't know If I find it more beautiful That we can read different books And feel the same way, Or that we can reread the same book At separate parts of our lives And feel different.
I've started to think That the answers are At the end of the bottle- The end of the box of tissues- The end of your lingering kiss- But because there are no ends There will never be any answers, Except maybe at the end of my pen's ink.