It's very easy to be sad
because nothing really lasts.

Tea colds and the sun sets. 
Life ends and we become cold.
People leave and hearts break.

And even tough we can always
make more tea and wait 
for the sun to rise again,
Life will still be over for some,
And people will still have 
somewhere to be,
And hearts will still break
Everyday.

So wether we care about it
or not,
Wether we're the one's hurting
or not,
There's always pain
around us.

Always.

Some of us just chose 
not to notice it.

The morning is for the lovers. 
For those who wake up in each others arms
and plant quiet soft kisses on their warm skin.
It's the time of the day for honest, sleepy voices to wishper
"I love you".

But the night belongs to the poets. 
Those who sit lonely all night and
bleed their souls out into a piece of white paper.
Those who love someone who falls asleep 
in someone else's arms. 
Those who ache. 
Cold hands, heavy heart. 
They can make 2 a.m desperate confessions 
sound like poetry. 

Some words are honey to our souls.
They're warm blankets on cold days and caramelized soft kisses on your skin
that give you the good kind of chills.
They're like love notes found on a sunny sunday mornings.

These words can mend you.
Or fool you.
Either way, you'll like them. You will crave to hear them.

But some words are to the soul just what blades are to the flesh.
They're thunderstorms at 4 a.m keeping you from dreaming.
They're rain on broken windows and gloveless hands in snow days.
They're cages for the spirit; opressive chains to your mental health.

These words can be so sensless, you'd think all they do is tear you apart.
And they do tear you apart.
But they will also keep you from getting fooled by pretty lying words again.