My memory is pretty shot, and I can't tell what memories are real, which are mine, and those that aren't wild dreams. They all just blur together, just like the days.
I never know what day it is, but I know it's a new day because I watched it happen.
Which events are mine, which are hers, and which just fall in between like some sort of limbo. I've learned to accept it, to adapt to it, and to ultimately come to terms with the fact that my mind isn't always my own.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Night ♥Complete♥
ContoA collection of things I write late at night. Whether it be little shorts, poems, or just getting deep. Anything is possible at night. (EDITED)
