Until now,
I have been
repeating
in my head,
like an
old mantra,
how
I just cant lose you.

Do not ask me
why I am hurting.
Do not ask me
questions that are
answerable by
your very existence.

You made me hope
for something
that only exists
on the pages of a book.

It's not you
that I want back,
but my heart
that you stole.

There is something with the way he looks at me.
It’s like he’s saying-

"Hey, you have dirt on your face.
Your lipstick is awkwardly traced on your lips.
Your dress highlights the layers on your tummy.
And it is no question that your hair is not having the time of its life.
But I wont judge you for those.
I wont judge you for the mess that you are and for the messier that you’ll be.
So yes, I’m hoping that you can also fall in love with me."

I want to believe that
to love is a choice.
For when I glanced at you
for the first time,
I had all the chance
to look away.
But
I chose to look
a second longer
and there my world
has alienated
every single concept
that I knew about choice.

She has a tender heart
branded as the classic fool.
She seeks nowhere further
than the textbooks on her floor.
But she has palmed
death upon death upon death of hopes.
She’s hiding five empty bottles under her ragged couch
-convincing herself that
alcohol can make her whole enough.