ذلك الرجل الغريب
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I thought that if I let my misery take me wherever it wanted, I'd write better. Now I suffer, and all that misery seems meaningless.
Repost from ذلك الرجل الغريب
What truth there is left What hope might still live I think I can feel it I think I believe it Gone is the darkness That I once called my home Or have I become it? Am I still alone? What love might have lived? What heart might still beat? I think I can feel it I think I believe it Gone is the darkness That I once called my home Or have I become it? Am I still alone? Gone is the fear Or at least so it might seem Is this the one of which I cannot dream? What love might have lived? What heart might still beat?
