If my father could hear me now, what do you think he'd say? Am I still his helpless little girl, now that I've decided to run away?
Eveything feels so raw, it's getting harder and harder to bear the cold touch of this damned world...
So tell me now, old friend, am I supposed to stay unsatisfied or leave scared, whithout a shoulder to cry on?
I guess I shouldn't be dragging you, of all people, into my silly problems. But you could come to me, tell me what bothers your mind; let me know if I'm the only one who dares to feel this way. I'd really love that.
And should we be alike, I ask you nothing else but to run with me, to diss the rest of those quiet thinkers, and wish louder than the stars can burn.
Love & Telescopes,