i just wished you’d listen. ¿Pero cómo? you don’t even see me at all. and thats what kills it — hope. every little bit of whats left. a veces obtiene tan frustrando, quiero renunciar. .
"He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong."