Feeling the palm of your hand in mine is all I can ask for in order to feel calm. Sometimes I fear that I miss my life passing by as I'm trying so hard to remember everything, trying desperately to record instead of actually listening. I feel as though I live more through my memories than I do in the present, and even while they are happening I begin to feel nostalgic for the moment at hand; I know that life is the sand of an hour glass, but I still cry when the grains slip between my fingers. I want to shatter the glass of this containment, but instead I trace the curve like I would of your cheek, wishing for every yesterday to last forever. They say there are more stars in the sky than the number of grains of sand on every beach on Earth, and I know how each kiss burns like a lightyear. I can't imagine how long it would take to count these seconds, losing time with every breath
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Feeling the palm of your hand in mine is all I can ask for in order to feel calm. Sometimes I fear that I miss my life passing by as I'm trying so hard to remember everything, trying desperately to record instead of actually listening. I feel as though I live more through my memories than I do in the present, and even while they are happening I begin to feel nostalgic for the moment at hand; I know that life is the sand of an hour glass, but I still cry when the grains slip between my fingers. I want to shatter the glass of this containment, but instead I trace the curve like I would of your cheek, wishing for every yesterday to last forever. They say there are more stars in the sky than the number of grains of sand on every beach on Earth, and I know how each kiss burns like a lightyear. I can't imagine how long it would take to count these seconds, losing time with every breath
