quiet

when the night is no longer young, when things get quiet. what are we really thinking.

as hypocritical as it seems, i hate to see people around me cry. it's a stab straight to the heart, and the flashbacks of those helpless times just come pouring in. inundating the senses. it's not a position to be overlooked, because we are most vulnerable when we're feeling helpless, or hopeless. little gestures to show we care may eventually go a long way. i guess in some way everyone just need to know that someone actually gives a damn.

even so, seeing the sorrow deep within seemingly happy people irks me. it is the un-expectation that throws you off. for once i'm a spectator instead of the protagonist, but the pain is real all the same.

"it all looks fine to the naked eye, but it don't really happen that way at all..."

+listening to: naked eye by the who