Perfect from far away…
I just washed my hands from the stains the paint left on my skin. I’m wasting time once again, finding comfort in solace and assessing the feelings I built without a wall to bounce to. I was reading up on stuff, my sleepy eyes are weary but it comprehends very well… I like a passage I found, ‘acceptance of all that is, has been, will be and will not be.’
A resignation to loneliness, sorrow, mistrust, disbelief and gray eyes…
I could hear Iron and Wine, ‘everything looks perfect from far away…’
