Writing of the Day.
This city has been crying loud these days that it glooms my way. And at certain point of time, I would usually stare at the window or go to the highest level of this building to immerse such feeling. Loneliness, at some ways, chill me better than anything else.
Her Feeling is Secondary
Time, if only you weren't bent so fine, some of this necessity would not even dare to take place above all. The look at her eyes won't be too gloomy to stare at. And time, you could have probably got killed by such look. No such things as hope, she would not even bother to try. And I could pass to see her lying on the ground, knowing something is missing inside—right away at the focal point—where love once made out of false alarm.
Because by the time the door is unlocked, and I take a look into her pale eyes, I know she would only take a short trip and probably never want to make any way back. She would fall hard again and never regret the amount of deadlocks she made, just to be free to be loved once again. But nobody she loves would give a damn.
This is why her feeling is secondary.
Prior to what have always been about them.
Theirs. All of their everything.