i've wanted to talk about
my feelings for you,
but deep inside i know
you'll never feel
the same way
for me
too.

you could've
said goodbye
instead of leaving me
wondering why.

I have never understood the aim, concept and purpose of letters. All I know is letters are where you combine ink and what your heart says. Basically, it is where you pour everything that's in your heart through a piece of paper.

you are the only person i'd stay awake at 2AM for.
the person i'd never get tired complimenting.
this letter would go on a thousand pages if i write everything i feel when you talk to me.
i think you're perfect and that I don't deserve you. i love all your flaws. i love you.

i want to make you believe you are lovely.

"do you love poetry?"
"yes, and art and books."
"so you love all the beautiful things, do you love yourself?"
"no."

*and i thought she loved all the beautiful things.

they say that home isn't four walls and a roof,
but eyes and a heartbeat.
perhaps it's true
because ever since you walked away from the door,
i feel so homeless.

people are like waves; they come and go.
sometimes, they bring a lot of beautiful things with them as they drown you into their own sea.
but usually, they steal your soul and leave you empty.

you are the paradox of beauty.
the silhouette of darkness.
the hidden depths of the ocean.
a universe full of mysteries and secrets.
you are you.

La tristesse durera toujours.*

–Van Gogh

it's crazy how much
you spend time
unmasking every single detail
about one person
who makes you feel so insane inside that you start molding a world for them;
not knowing you are just a void in theirs.

no any form of art was as priceless as her.

you know you're in love when you notice every ******* flaw someone has and still think they're beautiful.

maybe you're the sun and i am the moon,
maybe you're a saint and i am a sinner,
maybe you're the sky and i am the ground,
we will never collide,
but if we ever do,
chaos will destroy us.

we do not pluck
the most beautiful flowers
because we
want to destroy them
but because we
want to keep them *forever.

I think being a writer is the only way to escape the darkness of reality.

he sat alone in sadness.
the air of melancholy were suffocating his lungs.
clotting his veins,
slowing his heart beat,
he wanted to scream her name but no words were enough to tell the stars how much he needed her back.

you were in my dreams while i was fast asleep,
holding me tight as you wrapped your arms around mine,
how can i not be any happier?
you were mine and i was yours,
it felt surreal that reality woke me up with empty sheets
and you; leaving as fast as my heart beat.

"how do you see yourself?"

—a monster.

She wasn't the kind of girl you see in movies.

She was the kind of girl you read in books; so beautiful yet so broken.

i used to find you
in the things i love
but now
i hate them.