I'm afraid of becoming so close nauseating,
And to melancholy, so mundanely familiar,
That suddenly the viscous sands of everything
Will turn love into a cynical routine, ill humor.
That tenderness will slip through the days,
Leaving a chill, freezing feelings, nutty;
That it will turn into a gray ball of shadows
That past whose future is so empty...
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Author:
Ksey_Gan (
Offline) - Published: November 21st, 2025 21:50
- Category: Love
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments1
Here it seems that values and actions roll up into one ball. A most interesting read
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