Little nothings

There is no point in running, no point in fighting it, no point in being sad about it. You wait for the warmth of someone else to engulf your very being, to heal your scars, your wounds, to wake up your senses from their slumber and to let you fly into the blue sky. Like a feather to touch the horizon, to feel the wind blowing away all your sadness. To help you break the usual, to ruin the daily routine and to touch the dreams with your very own fingers. In the end you want to be something else but it`s just a dream, a hopeless wish that you cling on with your very being so as to not let the darkness of destruction to ruin your soul but it is no use. It will eventually bring you down.