s.u.n.d.a.y._m.o.r.n.i.n.g.
Much of my past writing has been, hmm how should I say this, naive and to some extend childish. We learn not to repeat the missed step by referring to our past. I do see myself matured, physically and cognitively. I also admit that I did wrote quite abit previously, but never made it onto this blog or the previous one, or the one before that. Most of it resembles a void yet to be filled. Perhaps by end of this year I will get to blog every one of my past nonsense here, since this is like a rehabilitative space for an addict of sort. And I do understand that Sundays are usually proper and refreshing. Just bare with this Sunday Morning with abit of tolerance, in which I wrote earlier this year.
Talk about the Sunday evening that we had to begin the life of two separate being
Talk about the Monday morning that none of us giving any sort of that love we anticipating
Cos’ we only look at ourselves and never five a second thought of how it would be like to be in another spot
Talk about the Tuesday afternoon that silence came too soon the relationship took an end
Talk about the Wednesday moon that a slight difference seems to make thing ruin
Cos’ we only got ourselves to blame for the time we left behind deeper than anyone could understand or imagine
Talk about the Thursday night that brought us to this side of a confrontational of one’s right
Talk about the Friday midnight that we cruise on the sinful sight the reason that let to us fight
Cos’ we chose to be in that open relationship that has no meaning like the plate of ours with no forgiving or loving
Talk about the Saturday evening that we struggled for reasoning but that has let to no returning
Talk about the Sunday morning that last word we ever saying it shall only be contemplating
