(Helios.) It's always something.
It’s a way of looking at the world. It’s a sense of humor, a similar taste in music, a shared color. It’s a look in the eyes, a whisper in the ears, words on a page, shades on a drawing. It’s the tone of skin, a brightness in the voice, a bouncing in the body. It’s a sound, an imagined taste, a longing, a sense of loneliness, a fear of being, or an outstretched arm. It’s happiness, it’s sadness, it’s wavelength and it’s hopes collided with dreams spliced with reality. It’s a remembered smell, an uplifting feeling, a heart palpitation, an utterly lost intake of breath.
These are reasons. But I can’t find mine. Why am I trying? Because I’m supposed to? Because I have to? Peer pressure? Contest, Competition?
Why is this so important to me?
Sunny: Get the fuck out indeed.
