Everything has an expiration date.
A point when it goes sour.
An hour where all the half lives have expired.
Here i am at the expiration date of us as we have been.
Days shy of nineteen years.
And the only thing that hurts is knowing that i’ll have to grow wings again.
i’m gonna go with me.
© Anaín Bjorkquist May 27, 2017 ~ All Rights Reserved.