A mismatch. A mess, falling peices never come back... So what's the point in searching?
Sometimes, a glimpse is enough. A shining puzzle piece reminding you that you a re incomplete, and from that glimpse you can try and mold a new peice. It'll never be the same.
How can one carry on the same when they have watched themself decompsoe? It isn't fair. It isn't fair. It isn't fair.
And then what is fair, but a word we put at the end of 'it isn't', to demonstrate dislike?
Or a word to describe the color of her skin, her hair?
Or to give credit to the game of life...
S'pose I'm his messenger, I've played that game before. I took down a certain someone's life and theories before he died, and I'm yet to share them, for that would be impolite to share a secret. But what if I unlock it, let it go free, will it help me understand? Will it help others understand? I do not know what to do. The messenger never leaves the building without a bullet wound.
'To be, or not to be'.
'Scientific term of matter is fact. So if it matters, it's fact. It's real. It exists'.
'If it's make-believe, you can make-believe it's real'.
'Change is coming through my shadow'.
Things for me to ponder, over and over again. A writer, an old friend, a child and a musician. Why is it these lines that imprint themselves in to my head?
It isn't fair, but fair game.