Things aren't always black and white.
Actally, almost never.
There's more to you,
Then meets the eye.
More to me, then the gold hair,
Whispering to you,
Through the wind.
I belive,
That sometimes,
I'm too much.
Too
Much
L
o
v
e
I've only got a year
Let me,
And I'll let you.
The air is thick with heat,
Making me feel as if I’m drowning.
I keep walking, for the fear of going back propels me,
penetrating the walls, invading my space,
comes the sound.
it chases me, finds me, leaves me with no place to hide.
searching for the source, I face the noise,
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