if the world were to burn tomorrow morning
i would laugh in its face
because who is dumb enough
to care about a world
that doesn't care a single bit about them?
truthfully, i don't know.
it takes a special kind of person to give something to the world
when it really doesn't care
because i think that those who do give
understand that it's not the world that cares
it's the people in it that do.
:)
in my heart, hope is a quiet thing
a pulse beneath rubble
soft as breath against marble dust.
it doesn't sing
it lingers.
it waits in the cracks where sunlight pools
on mornings the mist forgets to rise.
There is a language
spoken only in half-glances,
in the weight of a pause
just before someone smiles.
Think of whispers in the shade
Picnic cloths and lemonade
Afternoons in softened light
Books that stretch long into the night
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