once again i’m searching for words to fill the silence
that is so melodic at times, yet so discerning at others
don’t tell me the whistling through the trees is not for you,
when i am holding onto the sound of tears spilling right into your palms
i’m here, i’m alive, i’m not gone, not yet
i am wating for my skin to heal, so that i can start over anew
no matter how slight that possibilty may be
i am wating for the clouds to reappear,
for the rain to pour again
i’m wating for my train that will never arrive
i’m hanging onto hope that has died long ago
do you ever use a pen and you’re just blown away by how smoothly it glides across the page and how the ink flows out so beautifully like tears of jesus or something
(via the-dragonlord)
There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I wanted more numbers for you. But, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.
