All of the noises that surround me confuse me. A multitude of languages and smells assault me. The woman across the train is shouting into her mobile phone in her language which pisses me off.
Love is a word that rarely holds meaning. It doesn't exist, only a word that hurts people. If love existed then these feelings wouldn't be so difficult to explain.
I breathe in the smell Of clean laundry still Being washed. Its scent Reminding me of the Good Old Days, when Grandma would Cook dinner on Saturday afternoon And let us sit on the bench