A piece of string that doesn't hold a thing. A voice that can not speak. Several times forever intwined with people you never see. A life that was lived then lost in a day. Its the simple things that always get away.

A ballon in the sky, a paragraph forgotten. Memories made to no advantage.

All these things, these simple little things always get the best of me.

Like the wind when you waiting, like a thought you cannot contain. A chance to change, blocked by former days.

But progress can be made, cause everything can be discard.

Like a string you do not need, or words you wish to say. Even the good times you had can be stripped away. Everything can change.

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