This Summer is the Winter of my life. Frost covering my heart, and ducts hammering water on the dead flowers of my soul.
So long I have waited for the call of the sunshine to lift my spirits, yet now I find a more relatable friend in the rain.
Falling fast and falling far.
The joy of some, but the burden of most.
I can't give much more until I run dry and become nothing more than a pale memory of a short - lived storm.
What then?
After I give my all, what is there to offer?
I will be nothing more than the puddle stepped in by muddy shoes, with those I touched praying for the sun,
as I did not so long ago.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
This Summer is the Winter of my life. Frost covering my heart, and ducts hammering water on the dead flowers of my soul.
So long I have waited for the call of the sunshine to lift my spirits, yet now I find a more relatable friend in the rain.
Falling fast and falling far.
The joy of some, but the burden of most.
I can't give much more until I run dry and become nothing more than a pale memory of a short - lived storm.
What then?
After I give my all, what is there to offer?
I will be nothing more than the puddle stepped in by muddy shoes, with those I touched praying for the sun,
as I did not so long ago.
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