Consciousness
Some things about being alive are so beautiful I could cry.
Where to now? Where can I go now? Not to the Club Not to pay calls Mankind seems so pitiful So poor Compared to that softened, grateful, last glance She gave me through her tears
The world mystifies when you stare up through falling snow. Even standing still, you can soar. Even alone, you are surrounded. Even mundane, you find magic. I’ve spent my life chasing the fantastical, yet everything I’ve ever imagined can be casually matched by someone tilting their head up. The soft. Settling. Aspiration.
