My Tw|t Garden
My Ch@t Garden
My Affil|ates Garden
My W|sh Garden
♥ Faith
♥A beautiful ring A Godly marriage
♥ Peace
♥ Love
♥Our love for eternity Hope
♥ Eternal Life with Abba
♥
♥ Peace
♥ Love
♥
♥ Eternal Life with Abba
My Arch|ve Garden
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
June 2010
July 2010
August 2010
September 2010
October 2010
November 2010
December 2010
January 2011
February 2011
March 2011
April 2011
May 2011
June 2011
July 2011
September 2011
October 2011
November 2011
January 2012
February 2012
April 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
December 2012
January 2013
April 2013
March 2015
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
June 2010
July 2010
August 2010
September 2010
October 2010
November 2010
December 2010
January 2011
February 2011
March 2011
April 2011
May 2011
June 2011
July 2011
September 2011
October 2011
November 2011
January 2012
February 2012
April 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
December 2012
January 2013
April 2013
March 2015
Sunday, October 3, 2010
I'm asking for too much. That's why.
It's not all that bad and hopeless.
Just less than the ideal in my dream.
What's in a dream anyway?
It's all nothing but castles in the air.
I've no energy to make love happen.
He doesn't make the first move ever.
It's just gonna fade away. Like the withered roses on my vase.
No sunlight, no water to nourish and make it bloom. Unresurrected, it's bound to break apart one day.
I'm too tired to make magic. I can't even sleep enough. Perhaps to him, it's just laziness.
When would he ever pick up a book to read about what I'm going through?
Guess he'd rather be at his mafia war games.
Or the camera.
I see no hope.
Maybe it's clouded by my blues.
Blues that no one is willing to lift for me.
It's not all that bad and hopeless.
Just less than the ideal in my dream.
What's in a dream anyway?
It's all nothing but castles in the air.
I've no energy to make love happen.
He doesn't make the first move ever.
It's just gonna fade away. Like the withered roses on my vase.
No sunlight, no water to nourish and make it bloom. Unresurrected, it's bound to break apart one day.
I'm too tired to make magic. I can't even sleep enough. Perhaps to him, it's just laziness.
When would he ever pick up a book to read about what I'm going through?
Guess he'd rather be at his mafia war games.
Or the camera.
I see no hope.
Maybe it's clouded by my blues.
Blues that no one is willing to lift for me.