How ironic is it that waiting is both for and against time. We wait for time, but also run out of it as we do so.
And now I understand why people say love isn't fair.
Physical exhaustion is something you can wake up without after a good rest. But not a broken heart and a wounded spirit no matter how long you stay asleep to escape it all.
I want to write about beautiful things.
What will we do... before we run out of time?