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May 3
Do you still remember
how we stepped into the pages of a book
and lost ourselves
amid the world of romanticized words?
I mean,
do you still remember the time
when we were writing our love story
between the spaces
of unbreakable compound words?

I mean,
do you still remember
the smell of the old books
we used to get addicted to
and how we fondly read them
on our favorite wooden bench
by the rusty, timeworn streetlamp?

I mean,
have you already forgotten
how it felt to turn to the next chapter
of an underrated novel
while our hands were interlocked
with the mysteries of never-ending heartbeats?

I mean,
I still remember
how we embraced the warmth
of "I love you's" and "I miss you's"
and how they slowly turned
into obsolete phrases
swimming away from your tongue.

I mean,
I still remember
the bittersweet aftertaste
of your kisses,
of your tender hugs,
of your love poems,
of our love story
you chose to burn to ash.

Darling, I still want you
to come back for me;
I mean,
I still want to continue
everything we have started –
the bouquet of rose-scented words
and the proses we once had read
and we had written
beneath the starlit ceiling
of ever-burning feelings.

Darling, I'm still terribly in love
with the heartache
I once had felt
while holding your hand;
I mean,
I'm still stuck
inside a love-spangled book
you have ended with tragedy.
I mean,
I should've just refused
to begin our story
when I still had the chance
to create a better one
with someone else –
with someone who's way better than you,
because now,
my heart is already tired enough
to write a new one
that can make me end
my broken love for you.
Written by
Blckstr  18/M
   will19008, Pluto and White Widow
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