It feels really odd as I sit here in some sort of limbo
Surrounded by many yet solitude fills me
So used to the emptiness in my space
Surrounded by too much
Wanting to push out these imaginary walls
Drowning in useless thoughts
Unbelievably, inexplicably fine with the chaos of nothingness
Yearning for that which I do not know
Wondering and hoping, one emotion useless and one needed,
These things of our life are the stories we create every day
Are these moments creating the best story of our lives?
Are my actions enough or my words sufficient?
Wondering, holding on to hope, of the future…
Co writing some lives and hoping its enough to be the best
