crude lines were made. but i don't trust the way i fill the space. and i don't trust the way you spill the ink. for space is pure amid our vanity. true eyes are a wade. composure beyond zephyr sway. let tides crash up until your knees. let the sky's tears change what you see. nothing stayed the same. pure eyes lost to aharlot's gaze. how is one able to love the world? how can one love such crude lines?