Sunday, March 6, 2016


Hidden tears and silence, and secrets, and hope, and whispers. It may be easy to look forward to the future, plan things. But future is as phony as Old Gatsby. Trust and gamble, and loneliness, and lights are phony. 

Opinions make you delusional. Opinions make you stop, but where would I be without what others tell me. Where would I be when I don't exactly know what I should know and what I shouldn't know, and what I should tell and what I shouldn't tell, and what I should ask, and what must not be asked.

Some things are spilled, as easy as you told your friends you have met Paul Mccartney last night.
Wouldn't that be so hard to keep? When you were to excited to talk?
Some things are hidden, behind that face, and those dancing legs, and that soft hair, and that make up, and that smell. some things are remained hidden.

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