Death is promised to the bee who's sting protects the colony. Was it's life worth nothing more than honey for the queen? Life is a branch and it is a dove, handcrafted by confusing love. Sign language is our reply, when church beels make no sound. In hollow towers and empty hives, we craved sweetness with a fear of heights. Was it all just a grain of sand in and hourglass?
The smartest thing i've ever learned is that i don't have all the answers, just a little light to call my own. Though it pales in comparison to the overarching shadows, a speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow darkness whole.
Death is a cold, blindfolded kiss. It is the finger pressed upon our lips. It puts an unwanted emphasis on how we should have lived. Life is a gorgeous, broken gift. Six billion+ pieces waiting to be fixed. Love letters that were never signed, sent to where we live.
But the sweetest thing i've ever heard is that i don't have to have the answers, just a little light to call my own. Though it pales in comparison to the overarching shadows, a speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow darkness whole.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
