The hopeless romantic in me seems to be dead,
Gone and buried.
I used to care,
Swoon,
Write poems,
Make sweet gestures.
But that is all but gone,
Or just seemingly lost.
I used to carry myself with pride,
But I seem to be a shriveled husk of my former self.
I'd give anything to feel the flutter of butterflies,
The beat skipped in my heart,
Just losing my breathe,
One more time.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
The hopeless romantic in me seems to be dead,
Gone and buried.
I used to care,
Swoon,
Write poems,
Make sweet gestures.
But that is all but gone,
Or just seemingly lost.
I used to carry myself with pride,
But I seem to be a shriveled husk of my former self.
I'd give anything to feel the flutter of butterflies,
The beat skipped in my heart,
Just losing my breathe,
One more time.