on sacred shores, the patient await their answer. sometimes, that answer never comes.

and as we sit and wait, listening to the cool gentle breeze caressing our face, we like to think and hope that soft touch is the call we've wanted. the aching change in heart, the sound of destiny calling. we hope that once in our life, the emptiness of the room is the sound of the voices we wish and hope will call out our name.

sometimes, we know it's too late or it's too much that we're asking, but still we sit patiently, chanting songs of passionate desolation, hoping our sounds will be heard through these glass walls. fervently, we await, watching as fate passes us by, wondering what we did wrong or what we could have done to save ourselves the grief of never knowing true happiness. the faithless are always content with observing.

when the heart wishes for what's right, the weight of the world seems like nothing for the cost of romantic freedom. desperation lies cold and dead when the soul knows where it needs to go, intent on compromising naivety, showing spite for all things mediocre.

outside, the light shines bright, but inside it is always dark; and we seek warmth, forever. we await in anxiousness for the time we can feel that warmth once more. it is time to move forward.

privileged paranoia respites the remedy for cause and effect - no more