it's never over.

Most of my words are someone elses, but my feelings are my own, and they're all I have. I'm a thin sheet, a ghost, a simple person, but my heart is a different story. It meanders along a million different paths, taking different routes, trying to come to conclusions, trying to find an end, a nice warm house to stop and rest its legs. When it finds that house it falls in love with its beautiful gardens, the occupants, their pets. It moves in to one of the guest rooms, wrapping itself in the soft blankets laying on the bed, smelling the bottled scents left on the counter, taking in all the house is. I never want to leave, but when I must, my heart misses the house.