I will be at some random place, mourning,
maybe self-centered depreciation of myself, drunk, broken, beaten by my own stupidity. But I will be cured, from the eyes of child, beautiful like the golden sun, in a chill-warmful day. And so she went on to her mother, whose pregnant with another child, kissing her on her cheeks for being a good girl, smiling at some poor depressing bastard, to brighten his day, holding her hands,
while she too received a warm embrace from her husband. Tear falls from my eyes, judgement day comes; that wife.
That mother was you.
I once love.
