Love Is Not A Victory March

^^Hallelujah-Leonard Cohen


"This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again"

On The Radio (reginaspektor)

Did you know that a broken heart can actually physically hurt? I found this quite interesting. I think I knew it all along, but it's good to know that I'm not crazy.
But I know that all things broken can be mended, in time.
Time seems to be the solution to every problem, and I really wish it wasn't.
Time takes too long, I don't have time, I don't want to wait.
I don't have the patience, nor the strength, but I don't really have a choice.
They say life is about choices, but I find in a lot of things, there aren't many choices. Things are the way they are, we don't have any way to change them. All we can do is wait it out, hope for the best.
And it all comes back to time, ticking seconds, minutes, long hours, quick days, slow weeks, fly by months, and years that come and go without even saying hello. It's all happening for a reason though, a reason we won't ever know. It's just there.

"Somedays aren't yours at all,
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days
They come and leave you behind someone else's face
And it's harsher than yours
And colder than yours
They come in all quiet
Sweep up and then they leave
And you don't hear a single floor board creak
They're so much stronger
Than the friends you try to keep
By your side"

Somedays (reginaspektor)

And before I go, once again, a letter to an unknown person:

Dear Blank,

If what matters is right now, then why are we always thinking about the future?
And good luck next week.

Love(?),

Me

Lots of time,

the.(beautiful).let.down

"Good God, if your song leaves our lips
If your work leaves our hands
Then we will be wanderers and vagabonds
They will stare and say how empty we are
How the freedom we had turned us up as dead men
Let us be cold, make us weak
Let us, because we all have ears
Let us, because we all have eyes
Good God
How they knew that this would happen
they knew, they knew that this would
We’re so run down
Good God
Can you still get us home…
How can we still get home
I’m not dreaming
We’re forgetting our forgiveness"

Too Bright To See, Too Loud To Hear (underoath)

p.s. vagabond: a person that has no permanent home and moves or roams from place to place