I'm unsure as to what to think. Is this supposed to be a joke? A katharsis of sorts? Karma, catching up with me?
Stories. The stories I could tell. There is bitterness within that fades away with time but may never be gone completely. There's a little of self-pitying too that I try not to indulge in too often. The hate is gone, mostly. There is anger, still lingering in the shadow.
I wonder if there ever was love. In me.
The other side? Smoke and mirrors and taking for stars what was only a night sky's reflection in a dirty puddle on a side of a cobbled street.
