Very interesting life.
Very interesting feelings.
I'm sitting here, all alone, upstairs from my grandma. This is her daily routine. Her daily thoughts, her daily emotions. How different can they be, from mine, honestly? I mean, they can only be far worse, more intense.
She has just lost her husband of 56 years. Who knows what the future holds for her own health? But she's got me, and her family, even though we live so far away; she's got her friends who visit her from time to time, like her sister, who is talking to her over a cup of tea right now.
So, if my current life, is my grandmother's daily routine, then why am I so restless? So uneasy?
Maybe it's because I'm younger than her. I have yet to live, I have yet to love. I have yet to fail my millions trials, I have yet to understand my trivialitions. And most of all, I have yet to love my lonesome, for it is ours, and ours only, for it might be the closest thing to death; and therefore, even in the absence of it, the closest thing to love, itself.
BS
So come
Lie next to me
Together
Alone
For I am tired
And don't want to
Talk
Anymore
BS
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