" I existed because I dreamed
And well, I dream no more "
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beauty lives in-between the lines; quiet and still. and understand that its the things that go unspoken that need to be heard the most.
i kept telling myself that there was a full moon, so i kept looking for it through the trees. but when i found it, there was a huge piece missing
To see the moon in your your dream, represents some hidden, mysterious aspect of yourself. It is often associated with the feminine mystique and intuition. A full moon signifies completion, while a new moon symbolizes new beginnings.
i'm starting to realize that i run to all the things that scare me.
and i can't tell if that makes me brave, or just really stupid.
and i can't tell if that makes me brave, or just really stupid.
i picture a big, beautiful glass table. there's a rock stuck right in the dead center.. someone must of threw it. and as it goes, with just enough force to crack the table, but not enough to have it fall through and hit the ground. so it just stays there.. lodged in the piece of art work. nothing can be done.. its already damaged. it waits for its slow unexpected murder.
or maybe there's still the glass table, but maybe it wasn't the rock destroying it. maybe things were just piling on the surface. but what does it matter really? that's enough to break the table in a million tiny pieces.
i think we all can be compared to a glass table. maybe someone threw a rock onto our tops, and maybe it never went away. or maybe we still try to hold as much as we possibly can on our surfaces, and cross our fingers that we don't ever break
we'll listen to the cracking of our surface, and we'll watch the lines destroy our beauty. we'll hear the creeping of the breaking getting closer to the edges, and we'll have the shit scared out of us everyday.
or maybe there's still the glass table, but maybe it wasn't the rock destroying it. maybe things were just piling on the surface. but what does it matter really? that's enough to break the table in a million tiny pieces.
i think we all can be compared to a glass table. maybe someone threw a rock onto our tops, and maybe it never went away. or maybe we still try to hold as much as we possibly can on our surfaces, and cross our fingers that we don't ever break
we'll listen to the cracking of our surface, and we'll watch the lines destroy our beauty. we'll hear the creeping of the breaking getting closer to the edges, and we'll have the shit scared out of us everyday.
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