Sunday, April 22, 2012

Time begins to move again...

Your hand was warm from your fever...

When I held it, it got sweaty...

I felt alive...

I felt that I could live on...

From the bottom of my heart, I was glad I came home...

Let's keep on riding...

carrying the important things along.

The future beyond control...

The insecurity...

The doubts...

The feeling beyond reach...

The dream that can't be realised...

The self that can't throw everything away...

And the days won't give answers...


I'll...








but I no longer hear that sound...

I think I can go on believing ...

The thing that day we searched for but couldn't find...

Maybe someday...

For sure...









2 comments:

Unknown said...

hmm..u sick liao ??? or it's a poem ?? or ...

actually i don understand it at all..hehe..

Chris Redfield said...

It's a poem, of course...

Though, I don't think it's a good one...

But nonetheless, thanks for your concern!