Once, I had seen
a small piece of the fallen sun
In my hesitation in reaching out,
it was breaking away, ere I could.
Time was a predestined torture
that passed by excruciatingly, slowly;
a tapestry woven by storms
and the miseries of every waking moments.
I watch the falling rain,
poetic and beautiful,
and willed it to wash away
the hurt of memories, of past.
Random stuff I wrote as it poured on throughout the day, while I contemplated about this... end.
Rewatched Weiss Kreuz for the nth time, and realized once more just how well It's Too Late fits the weather.
I also learnt just how little I remember of the past years. Ironic, really, I was so surprised...