Loving you was hard, wanting you was harder, but kissing your forehead was insanity.
When is it too right but too wrong to be right?
We grow apart because we grow in different stages and not all of our stages align.
Broken boys are dangerous, but broken men are lovely.
Some long for acceptance while others fear for anything ordinary.
If I had amnesia, I know I would fall in love with you all over again.
You were like fine wine, but cheap wine gets you drunk faster.
We were one, even in the darkest corner.
Occasionally we must disconnect to reconnect later on.
I remember things like dates down to minutes, what they smelled like, how they walked and how they tug their hands in their pockets. I twine myself in nostalgia of moments and not necessarily the peop...
I write the right. I do the left.
I danced as he twirled in and out of consciousness, and there we were, one in love and the other astray.
I never expected you to understand, but I did expect you to be there.
My months are spent preparing for the fall.
I romanticized him until he was the perfect being. A soul so beautiful, but so immensely evil too.
His whisper was the softest sound I ever knew, which seemed to bring the loudest heartbeat.
His love was a poison: soft and loveable, hideous yet touchable.
Looking back and wondering if it could have worked eventually hurts more than trying and failing.
I loved you before all of this. When there was nothing. When there was only a single atom in the night sky.
He said he was going to fix everything and I believed him. But I believed him before and again some. And I guess I got lost in the resentment of disbelief.
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