He's not really good with words,
but every sentence spills out of his lips
like a ballad waiting to be sung.

He's not really good with words,
but for every 10 apologies,
he gives out a million i love you's to make up for it.

He's not really good with words
but every letter that slops out of his ink
sounds like the playing sonnets of Beethoven.

He's not really good with words
but his touch feels like warm coffee
on a drizzling sunday afternoon.

He's not really good with words,
but if actions could speak,
every space in his entire being would scream out her name.

im sorry i saw venus in your galaxy eyes
when it was nothing but

dim

im sorry it felt electric whenever our skins grazed against each other
when you were just


cold

im sorry it felt nervous
looking into your devil smile
when you were just


ecstatic

im sorry it felt like home evrytime you said my name
when you were just

lonely

im sorry it took so long to forget your face
when you never even bothered to remember my name

but most of all,

im sorry i put all these metaphors
to your ordinary features
when all you gave me was 3 years of agony and a lifetime's worth of absence

some say that pain is inevitable when it comes to love
that you're bound to get hurt one way or the other
that you're no match for the force of human nature,
that is to hurt the ones you love

i say—let it.
let it scar.
let it hurt.
—and let it hurt badly.

leave me broken
and leave me crying
leave me lonely
and leave me dying

because if love means waiting years and years
just to spend one fraction of a moment
where we belong to each other
then all of the wait
and all the weight on our shoulders
would be worth everything
we've been trying so hard to resist.

im not much of a poet,
but his eyes look like comets
rushing to fall onto me,
being engulfed by earth's pull

im not much of a poet,
but i swear his skin
feels like the first drop of water
on a hot summer shower

im not much of a poet,
but his smile spreads across
my skyline like sunshine
on an early morning jog

im not much of a poet,
and he's not much of my poetry.

please tell him, that i always see his face
in every stranger that passes.
please tell him that when the sun goes down, my heart cant remember anything but his name

please tell him that when im lying in bed at 3am looking for traces of him on my inbox, i always end up hopeless
please tell him that when im pouring my heart out to pen and paper, its always for him, always

please tell him that when i close my eyes, im surrounded by memories of us
please tel him that im waiting, im always waiting