As I admire the smiles on the people in the photo I think "what am I missing this time?" I'm always racing, chasing, someone, somewhere
that isn't mine. Thinking that the grass is greener, greener on the other side. Thinking that in your shoes, I'll be satisfied. First
admiration, then contemplation, tricking my mind. Cause I know that photographs lie. Well photographs lie, they fool my eyes, they show me
somehting that is not. It's like fire that makes me desire what they have, while they may want what I've got. And this romanticism is like
a prison, 'cause life won't turn out to how it is forseen. So will anybody care or just be there to pick up our shattered dreams. Admiring
you while you may be admiring me. Photographs paint a false picture of reality. And I think I'd rather leave it, leave it as a blur.
Instead of lamenting over the past of things that never were
