things scatter and i blabber. things, mostly, most ardently, doesn't mean a thing but that doesn't disturb anyone. everyone is okay with the fact that we can see ourselves as on earth or we can see ourselves as in space; isn't earth, is the blue dot that lets us live on it and destroy it at the same time?
at this road which had shown mercy to me, and walked me to home; at this very road satellites crashed, hearts broke and lies had been told. undying loves had been confessed for the lovers with auburn hairs, on this very roads. a shakespearean love that we lacked, you and i. loves, billions of which, had been made by the mankind. storms had been stitched onto lovers as they left each other. rain had fallen down to asphalt, dark and wet, and it had been absorbed into earth itself.
things came crashing down on all of us. -mankind's fault, debauchery-. man has never had their way with themselves. they hated themselves and loved themselves and hated themselves. they always wanted alternative love for the love they already had and alternative loves had led to the destruction of the man himself.
everyone, everything and everywhere is made out of stardust. we all consist some space in us- thats why we never feel close enough to someone to feel fully in love. we still have space in us and us, in space.
