It’s another one of those nights… when I look up at the full moon, more restless than ever.
Tonight, I wish I could drive far, far away into the night, and eventually find myself at an old friend’s house, where I could cry into their arms.
“I have failed. I have failed again. I have failed again to live.”
The night’s cold embrace is freeing. But what it frees, is unbearable to look at.
(Read this as… the dark side of romanticism — constantly falling short of our epic dreams.)
