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920 · Feb 2014
2.
EV Feb 2014
2.
Creo que nunca dije cuanto me gustabas
Nunca  dije lo mucho que te adoraba
Las mañanas en mi cama, las tardes en que me abrazabas.

Amaba la forma en que cantabas, admiraba como tu cara se iluminaba cuando me hablabas. ¡Y es que la verdad deliraba al contar las pecas en tu espalda! Y tus manos, ¡Oh por todo lo bello, tus manos! Pequeñas y delicadas, perfectas para dibujarlas. Y lo admito, no mentía cuando decía que me encantabas.

Pero todas las cosas buenas se acaban. Y ya no contaba tus pecas, ya no esperaba que me abrazaras. Las mañanas eran frías, ya ni en mi cama dormía. Tal vez te fuiste mientras dormía, tal vez ya no me querías. Y pensaba que volverías, pero igual; sabía que eras una mentira.
Y aunque siempre critiqué la cursilería, heme aquí con este poema...
738 · Jan 2014
Funny
EV Jan 2014
Its funny.
Yes, its funny how often we hurt the people we love
In the spur of the moment, things that we swore to never ever say, bloom out of our mouth like flowers in spring, yet, these flowers aren't beautiful, and are nothing but bitter.
''I didn't mean it!''
''I was angry''
''I wasn't serious''
We come out with the saddest excuses in the try of make out the damage we've done
'Cause we know how much words can hurt, but we still use them so freely and so carelessly.
But, y'know, I do find that contradiction funny.
'Cause I've heard people preaching kindness while They're the firsts ones to point fingers
I've seen people swear to never tell a secret, yet 2 seconds later They scream it at the top of their lungs.
It's funny.
And, it's also funny because I've done that too.
We promise to be kind, to be honest, to never do bad, to think twice before blame others
But, the day after, or the second after, we finish our promise and go to out to the world
We forget what we said
We forget the promise and do, and say, what we never wanted to.
Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintetionally.
But,
It is still, funny.
My first poem ever written

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