There are one thousand years of solitude inside of my soul, one thousand years of contentment, isolation, and development.
Is this not solitude? Moving forward.
But sometimes quickly.
I do not claim to be a saint but neither do I believe I am a sinner.
There are one thousand memories of beauty inside my head, one thousand years of loving, desperation, and making changes.
Is this much like beauty? Changing.
But often resilience.
I did not say forever but neither do I believe in perfection.
No my sunshine, no heaven is not real.
Yet, may you ever remember, yet may you always know life is wonderful.