Why do we often miss where we come from?
Why do we always miss the little things we never really once appreciated before?
We can say right at this very moment that we don't care about anything or anyone. Right now.
Across the galaxy and some passage of time later... it's almost a guarantee that you'll be reduced into the most human of forms. Homesick, irrelevant, and desperate to get back the doldrums of familiarity.
... Then again, I've thought this out. Just for myself.
How will I ever show my appreciation for where I've come from?
About Me
- Jenny June2
- i can't relate. i have a hard time with reality, i guess because there's something wrong with me. i think the rest of the world should become writers, writing always leads to something undiscovered... maybe we'll all become too occupied with discovering so much in the end that nothing else would matter; we would just be writers, a society of long, run-on sentences.
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