I call it the irony of life

A new day full of life, a day I wish will never end, the irony of life built in an historical scoop of love, where the Structure was made out of pain, sorrow, love and hate.

I call it the irony of life, hope for a better future and dreams to get something out of nothing in a place whereby the sound of that soft tender water drop form that fountain we once call our own, the Source of that living water we use to know, too bad for the structure is old and living water we use to know has dried up.

You were my wild, an uncltivated part of my life, where that beautiful flower called wildflower was cultivated and taken away by the unknown, living an empty space in my heart, a space that can never be occupied by looks words of the mouth or the rhythm coming out of my radio, for this heart you see is dead and the looks in me are weak.

My vain and attention for fanciable things made me lose the perfect world we built together, I have no words to justify my actions for there will be no use for justification when the deed is done, so I rest my case.
via tram Beausteven