Our fresh starts are merely ancient tales played out in new
roles… Drop me off at the edge of time— with the subtle
notes to the steps of love; alas, it's only a footnote. Bearing
heavy thoughts as the wearer of this crown— wear me
down; preoccupied with the relentless question of,
'where do we stand now?'

Torn in two; we are the wounds that stitched us together,
only to fall in love. I'm still scarred, only this time I chose to
bring it all on myself. Sympathized symphonies— where
all these falling tears don't fall from your eyes, but from
the heavens crying out at night.

Though time grows wise the longer it runs; why do I persist
on chasing time, as if there exists a finish line... In hopes that
loving you would grant me wisdom on how to love you better;
spending more time in this chase - or how the story goes.

The boy who chases after a wife, often neglects to transform
the title to HIS wife. Fresh starts that are merely ancient tales
played out in new roles. But who really owns up to their role
at all?