03 March 2009

The night that ate my imagination.

can't sleep;

i think it's called insomnia.

there's a hole in my heart that's about her size. why the faint-heartedness? i'm not so sure either.

these things never seem to end,

and it only gets closer to the point where i can't take the pain anymore.

T.H. White once said:

perhaps we all give the best of our hearts uncritically... to those who hardly think about us in return.

people tend to let themselves get hurt by the ones they care about the most.

it's interesting how the heart and soul work.

i'm just a few steps away from the irish cream on the table.

i don't think it's my imagination,

because i can hear her voice again in my head;

warm again with that familiar phrase:

"bottom's up baby."

1 spilled milk:

Judytta said...

I search in your page about Dima Bilan and I love him too!!