I find myself weary of this machine.
Yearning for the age of technology to end.
To go back to bare feet and humble hearts.
To a point where our self-righteousness,
sense of entitlement,
bank of bondages
would fade into the past
in a matter of minutes
and with one flash of light
we would look at these contraptions and think:
How silly we were.
Just how lame was our ambition.
How quickly we killed off our own humanity
through the most uncreative of tools.
| tap, tick, click, click |
hearts in these eyes, dreamt
of this happening once. now
that it is, just wow.
We are carved from the
same sad stone, only mine is
more wood than stone.
How can detachment
be love? but it
strange we are. I stalked the
night streets to forget.
The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you
not knowing how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.
* dirty hands *
+ warm heart + street art
~ seems like a logical place to start ~
instead she chased.
“tug his shirt sleeve,” she thought, beat
him to the dumb punch.