This is not a movie.
This is not a book
where the guy meets the girl in a bookstore
or a cafe
or any other romantic place
and falls deeply in love with her the next few days.
This is not a love song
that a sixteen-year old girl plays in her iPod.
This is nothing. We are nothing.
We do not have a red thread
tied around our ankles.
We are just specks of dust
that fall anywhere wherever the wind blows us.
We are not one and we cannot be one.
It is too impossible.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
This is not a movie.
This is not a book
where the guy meets the girl in a bookstore
or a cafe
or any other romantic place
and falls deeply in love with her the next few days.
This is not a love song
that a sixteen-year old girl plays in her iPod.
This is nothing. We are nothing.
We do not have a red thread
tied around our ankles.
We are just specks of dust
that fall anywhere wherever the wind blows us.
We are not one and we cannot be one.
It is too impossible.
