they occupy you until the real or "meant to be" happens.
How selfish of life to use me up and make me wait,
revolving doors that don't lock. . . .Hearts that hesitate, stutter, then stop.
things come and go like seasons. . . .they say.
But who am I to say that your a season or even a reason.
I know my everything but then again, I dont understand my happenings.
With Love, Elle.