apocalypticbob

For you, a cloaky hug on a drizzly afternoonish, when the sun is shining far beyond the gray clouds and the grass is the brownish not quite green of burgeoning spring. For you, a kiss on the broad plain of your brainy forehead, a kiss full of stars and flight through space and wandering comets who travel and travel, bound only by the Law of the folded Space Fabric, until they must, as all things do, find their way home.

What if you aren't depressed? Just... bothered? There was a time I thought I was bothered, until I found out I was actually depressed. Funny ol' thing, life.