They say no love is perfect.
How could anything be imperfect
When love is pulling even the frailest of
Strings attached?
Whether that be a lifeline, a noose, or the
Electrical cord to its own
Respirator, its final word would be
A smiled whisper of either
Hope or rememberance.
Gratitude is grace.
Even diamonds decompose.
Breath gives meaning to air.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
They say no love is perfect.
How could anything be imperfect
When love is pulling even the frailest of
Strings attached?
Whether that be a lifeline, a noose, or the
Electrical cord to its own
Respirator, its final word would be
A smiled whisper of either
Hope or rememberance.
Gratitude is grace.
Even diamonds decompose.
Breath gives meaning to air.
