I’m just the light on the cigarette filter, burning low and quiet, one end of the addiction of a person. I’m the night light. You may not say you need me, but maybe, deep down, you know you do.
And my life is french lace, all dainty and brittle. All you and I will ever be worth was written in the summer sand, under a summer sun, washed away on a summer evening. The wind speaks to me as I sit on the beach. the horizon creeps closer by the second.
Because, hey, unless it’s mad, passionate, crazy love, it’s a waste of your time. There are one too many mediocre things in your life, and your love for whatever you choose to love shouldn’t be one of them.
Life, love, books, words, your favorite drink, your favorite movie, your favorite person. You can never have enough.