Why do I always keep waiting for the right time? Craft ideal events, burdening my precious mind. Spend time, doing same things, the same trend. And hoping, somehow next day, it'll be different. The future that you're waiting, it never arrived. You keep carrying the child, which once thrived. And the past keeps happening, it's never ending. Till you stop living life and you start pretending. Time mignt be weightless, but the past, it's heavy. Sooner you do it, the lighter you'll have to carry. Warmth from sunshine, only lasts a certain length. Your next chapter might be, an intro to "The End." You might be wondering how I know that you're awesome! Because I know you read this via RSS.
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