Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?




Lush green, bright blue, baby blue, will from now, become dull, dim and dreary.
Because I'm weary.
You make me weary.


In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me, you say it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it
What stuff it's made of, where of it is born
I am to learn.
And such a want wit sadness makes of me,
that I have much ado to know myself.










No, I don't know.





Just a trail of thought,
how would you feel if the ones you treasure most in the world drift from you due to age.
They were young, full of innocence.
So they stick themselves to you, revolved around you.
Then you showered onto them excess love, concern and everything you had.
But now, as the years pass,
they drift, because you're too old fashioned,
you know not nothing to them.
It's like you still continue showering love, like droplets of water,
but they don't feel the rain.

Is this a phase?
I hope it's a phase.
Because it seems so certain to happen.
I see this from my own sphere.
My own whelm of love.





I hate it when you dig into me,
because you'll lose your way in my darkness
And I'd have to shine through to guide you.
Then I'll re-see my fears, failures and those half-forgotten things.
A death of a thousand cuts.
No, not that bad.
But somewhat.
Akin.





FOUOCOKOFOF.