a fair judgement for absent friends. read best from an opeth album.
we could argue. or we could pretend everything's alright. but who's got time to do either?
we're run my digital numbers, ticking hands, and a pyrmid of sand. but we're always off schedule.

when did we become so lifeless? when did we decide to change so much?
or have we always been like this, waiting for our true colors to finally surface.
a blend of self absorbancy with stubborness on a pallet, slowly tinting the once shades of happiness.

or maybe we've never been happy. i think we've been staring at a pattern on canvas for quite some time now.
too afraid to admit that change is inevitable. that life is not a still portrait.