"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be.*" - Wuthering Heights.
beauty, is in love's eyes,
i once read that if he still makes your heart
anchor itself to your abdomen,
after three months, it's love.
well, my metaphors are wasted on you,
my words are a fancy way of
expressing myself and they contain
too much of you.
you've got a temper,
enough to rumble under these streets,
and collapse what i've been building.
i get sick of building blocks,
love is child's play, and i just want
us to be adults.
i promised to love you, and i do in
my own odd ways,
you broke my heart, i broke yours.
i still want you to know,
a mosaic wouldn't be so beautiful,
without all the cracks.
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