feel better soon, heart.
i hope it aches less but never heals,
save some left for you’d wonder how pain felt like.
it takes you getting hurt to make you feel alive, from your recalling.
perhaps this should’ve stayed in drafts but im just too sad to
what we long for
is not to die
—is that too much to ask?
if you’re so used to goodbyes, why does it ache different each time?
a genuine question i’d ask myself since it’s always so hard at the beginning but you’ll eventually let go anyways
words, little do they seem to mean
for someone so big that not even one’s heart can bear
These words are for me,
For I'm the one who's hurting,
I'm just healing myself.
I often wonder why we can't understand other's poems sometimes, but deep down it is the one who writes it knows the value of it.
i hope in a different life,
you would—at least—be happier,
even if that means trading my only chance
in this life of knowing you exist.
if i’d known better, would i still be able to tell myself that i was not doing things wrong?
too bad reality isn’t one of those places you can easily escape from