You were the chances I didn’t take
A shooting star, one wish I couldn’t make
The radiant sun that never set
A fear of what if he and the moon had met
You are the basket of golden dreams I cannot weave
And yet, here I am, praying you won’t leave
I’M GOING TO MAKE IT AN EFFORT TO POST MORE OFTEN
Learn to cry for your sins. We can cry over a fictional story but not when thinking of spending millions of years in Hell?
A riot police officer, with a helmet stained by thrown paint, watches a march of teachers and students protesting a wide range of issues regarding the government’s educational policies in Bogota, Colombia, Sept. 5.
(via politics-war)
Babe makes me happy
Israeli soldiers check ammunition at a staging area near the border with the Gaza Strip, November 19, 2012.
Photo: Nir Elias
