Life feels heavy —
as if I lack the strength to carry on.
Loneliness demands it so;
I've grown used to fleeing from what's real.
I watch others live their love-filled lives —
but it's never enough.
My body aches for it,
and so does my soul — to love, to be loved.
Since you,
everything around me has blossomed —
flowers in my chest,
butterflies in my stomach,
seeds of something new scattered everywhere.
If Spinoza had seen you,
he wouldn’t say “God is in all,”
but rather, “God is only in you.”
I want you to want me,
the way I want you —
with all the love I've yet to give.
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 10:20 AM UTC
Life feels heavy —
as if I lack the strength to carry on.
Loneliness demands it so;
I've grown used to fleeing from what's real.
I watch others live their love-filled lives —
but it's never enough.
My body aches for it,
and so does my soul — to love, to be loved.
Since you,
everything around me has blossomed —
flowers in my chest,
butterflies in my stomach,
seeds of something new scattered everywhere.
If Spinoza had seen you,
he wouldn’t say “God is in all,”
but rather, “God is only in you.”
I want you to want me,
the way I want you —
with all the love I've yet to give.
30.07.2025, by Shamsaddin Amanov