The hours.

  Amongst the others, you waver. To coexist harmoniously without fault is what it appears to be. You are a lone, weakening plant. You are a single teardrop in a sea of others. You resent the dreamy blue skimming the surface. You are nothing more than a cog in flawless machinery. The turning of gears rustles you inside. You feel utterly betrayed by the security of numbers.

  All you need is an escape. At least you do, on occasion. Soon it becomes all you can think of. The hours file by in a repetitive fashion and you feel pulled in all directions. Your liquid woes build up inside of you. You stare at their faces, into defeat. With every step your brave demeanor comes crumbling down. You keep your silence. And finally, you let it all out.

'Open up the oceans, jump on in. The masters of the coastlines beckoning. Unfold my only life vest, sink or swim through the everlasting worlds begin.' - Sticky Fingers // 'Can I wait the hours, till you find me? // Frightened eyes looking back at me. Change your mind; don't leave without me. // It's all in a glance you'll see. It's farther than we could be.' - Beach House

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