Love is love. It doesn’t matter what kind it is.
it’ll be this kind of deep blue
Things that don’t matter at all to one person can hurt another so deeply it seems as bad as dying.
Quando vedono troppe cose, gli esseri umani diventano stranamente tristi.
In this world there is no place for sadness. No place; not one.
The ritual of our daily lives permeate our very bodies.
To the extent that I had come to understand that despair does not necessarily result in annihilation, that one can go on as usual in spite of it, I had become hardened. Was this what it means to be an adult, to live with ugly ambiguities? I didn’t like it, but it made it easier to go on.
I felt sure of this. However much I loved him, and as beautiful as the world was, none of it was powerful enough to take the weight off his heart, that heaviness that dragged him down, into the beyond, making him yearn to be at peace.
When was it I realized that, on this truly dark and solitary path we all walk, the only way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love, I was always lonely.
Someday, without fail, everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time.