endlessly



it's hard to do these things alone
just hold on we're going home


as all the shifting lights and the little puffs remind you of what it was & still is & should be, because despite all the twisted eyes under covers on sunday mornings and the restless runs of nights before, the void is still beautiful and whispers promises of new sights to come. in all i don't have lies the potential for news, empty space, das prinzip hoffnung, and home beckons, be it london or amsterdam or hong kong or the stars above, from where war looks tiny through the smoke from our lungs.