Loving him feels like being alive again.
Like a flower blooms in spring.
Like a flying butterfly.
Loving him feels like in home.
Warmth and comforting.
Wrapped in a room full of insanity.

Loving him feels like in a room full of art.
Lost in the idea of being loved.
Loving him means understanding.
Find a way to appreciate every little things.
To believe in the power of accepting people's flaws.

Loving him isn't red, neither it's blue.
Loving him is white.
Pure, soft and content.
Loving him is adoring every inch of beautiful things.
And could be a reason to be thankful.

She was there, he was there.
They were almost there.
Not until the night crumbled.
Blurred with the pouring rain.

She is still there, but he wasn't.
He was gone, left her breathless.
But she is still there.
In the cloudy night, waiting the wind swallow her souls.
She hope it can make her feel better.
But in the end, she will always be there.

Waiting, all she can do is waiting.
It doesn't matter how hurt it is.
Doesn't matter if she can't feel her legs anymore.
Doesn't matter how far it is.

Under these stars, she waits.
She waits for him to comeback.
To feel his warmth again.
To hear his jokes.
To hear his heartbeat.
To make sure he is still alive.
Even though she knows, he is no longer there for her.

But she will always be there.