In a word, what is
perfection?
It is missing the train.
It is getting second place.
It is loosing your thoughts.
It is falling down.
Unattainable.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
if only we were born with wings
Poesíabecause then, if we were, we could escape all this mayhem we live in ~~~~ it's a lot of me talking about heartache i no longer have and spite and sadness as aesthetically as i can
