We are all dust passing through the air, the difference is, some are flying high in the sky, while others are flying low. But eventually, we all settle on the same ground.
Give, it's time to. Its time too. Time to. Time.
Live a little or die a lot. The choice is hours.
She stared at me, like day stares at an hourglass and night, the sand trickling through time; the sea disappearing to eyes in the dark. But I hear her waves coming in, as she whispers one last chance goodbye.
Loneliness always eats up time, fills on depression where hands move slow, to reach out for a moment of care.
The distance of a voice, is only a short time away from touch.