She seemed undecided but little did he know
She was never this sure,  not until he showed.

Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, “This poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.”
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage,
And stretchèd metre of an antique song.
    But were some child of yours alive that time,
    You should live twice, in it and in my rhyme.

you, me
As the sunrises, as the sunsets,
sitting on the grass,
sharing our past present and future
opening up to each other and one day hoping
just hoping that we will meet each other twelve months from now with upgrade and happiness in our heart.
Just hoping.
Just hoping that we will be everyone's model
the relationship, the love, the trust,
the happiness and the little lust.
That we will still share that.
As time passes by and our body becomes ambiguous and wants to try something new,
Just hoping that we will stay together.
Just hoping
I mean.... at least we hoped.
I hoped.

forget me, forget everything I said to you. Imagine they where all truthful lies that I spoke from my heart. Turn your back on me. Pass by me like a complete stranger,  like I don't exists. I will smile when you do this because you have made it easier for me to forget about you and all the things that made you YOU.

Today is the best day. I wrote my whole heart out and it erased all by itself. The pain. The pain.
"On this day, September 20, 2018, she suffered."