So much to say, so little words.

I've been smiling with anchors on my shoulders,
But I've been dying, dying, dying,
to let them go.

Babe, this wouldn't be the first time.
It will not be the last time.
There is no parasol that could shelter this weather.

-Oil and Water, Incubus.


My next post will make more sense and less dripping with emoness.
I promise.