Sunday, January 27, 2013

Dying is an art, like anything else, I'm exceptionally good at it - Sylvia Plath


You don't really know when you'll be coming back, or going, or if your leaving is for good.

And sometimes, your being there for that moment, was too short that it felt like you were never there in the first place, like a passing dream during the night. Like smoke. Like dust in the wind.

No comments: