All We Ever Do.

Even if we return to stardust in the end.

My Dearest Poetry.

The push and pull between the moon and the sea.

It's one of those things that you want to shout about from the top of the world.

Does the soul ever tire of thinking?

Farewell and may you damned be.

Now, they make no sense.

Perhaps I can let go of them someday.

Reach the sky, you shall.