Crossing Bridges

We could last the year
We could turn back time
We could pretend that we've never met
Always, always.

Depression kills, depression hurts.
What lies beneath is a series of chapters left unwritten,
patience and kindness are not inspirations to her.
Keeping her lips sealed because things might turn ugly otherwise.

A walk down Verona lane
Memories, whispers, happiness and sorrow altogether,
With my fingers trembling softly on each note,
Conjuring up a series of rhythm made for you, 
 I miss my hands on you.

So when someone comes up to me and ask, what is love?
I would say, love is something you cannot describe, something that will always be left unspoken.

I have been away for quite sometime, truth to be told - juggling 4 sites at the same time, and only updating 2 of them is not what I call consistent. My consistency in procrastinating has not changed one bit, always longing to relax and forget the world, always thinking of tomorrow that I wish would never come. Soon it will be the end to my everything and a beginning to my something, I can't decided if I'm anxiously looking forward to it. I would very much like to turn things around.

Please be patient with my flaws, it will be all be angled right... soon.