I've lived so many times, if only in my head.

I have felt sad about everything.

I have loved so many times because I couldn't love myself.
Cradling illusion, desire
A terror that blossoms, like a rose in the soul.

I've learned to better get along with the pain
and the fear that even joy strikes within me.

But things have a way of reminding us
We no longer can say what they mean,
The meaning is in our heart, not our head.

Most of the time living life is a sentence.

And Time is neither a soothing wave
Or warm sand running through our fingers

It is jagged and difficult to grasp
and to run after it would mean to risk the fall.