Dead End Roads

There are things you need to do or things you have to do. That's exactly what I'm writing. I realized that the other way was waiting for me the moment I realized that the road was dead, but how would it be?

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What would be so plan, labor, love, imagination? Would I just leave them all alone at the end of the street? Sometimes it's not enough to notice, now that you're going to take the same frustration and return. You know, the frustrations are so heavy, it's not easy to carry.

The path is further extended by the frustrations you embrace. How much time is there for man to think. I didn't understand how I thought so much at the same time. Anyway, I never gave up so easily, I didn't give up. I tried to push it on the wall and push it.

I'm looking at what the wall doesn't give up, nor do I give up. Was it really the wall's move? Why couldn't I be in while he was there? Couldn't I self-destruct a wall to get me?

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I just wanted him to accept me, invite him to his path. Was it too hard? How could I tell what he thought? The wall isn't talking, or maybe I'm not talking. Perhaps this language was different from the language we were talking about.