As time's gone by, I guess I've fallen in some sort of love with the way things used to be simple. Those carefree, simple moments. I guess loneliness kept me together for a while, or maybe it was some other bad habit I had picked up over the years.

But things are constantly changing, with out without our permission. The moments we used to look to for happiness turn unbearable. Our feelings are foreign to our being, and without understanding, we are merely weapons with no more ammo; useless. Here we are, surviving, barely, between the hopeful people that we are, and the dark figures we grow into when asleep. Between the daylight with our daydreams, and the stars with our nightmares.

By the time we figure these things out, there won't be any differentiating between the tears, sweat, and blood on our faces. And one day, we'll find our memories somewhere, maybe sealed up tight in a box. For the first time, we'll be able to see everything. We'll see our lives in scraps, everything we forgot, everything we wished to remember. Dissected and displayed for ourselves and the world to see.

Our tired eyes can't stand to see, and our cold hearts can't stand to feel. But we're wasting our time, breathing every second. Just to prolong these moments of imperfection, these moments we'll look back on and try our hardest to forget. Cause we're always wanting something else. We're waiting for our hearts to be more than just a fragile referral.