And so I took a deep breathe,
and start again.
Everyone pushes me.

I'm tired.
I'm tired.

I'm not good enough in faking.
I'm not good enough in faking,
a love.

Life is too short to go to the same coffee shop every morning,
sipping another Vanilla Latte to start the day.
To walk on the same road all over again.
To wear the same shirt every week.

But he is not like that.

He eats cereal for his dinner,
and grapes for the next day,
or maybe sausages.

He buys different kind of breakfast,
from different kind of stores every morning.

Today he use bike to work,
and tomorrow he will use bus,
but last week he used taxi,
because he just received his first check.

He drops out of school,
because he don't like school.

He also don't celebrate birthdays.

That's what I like about him.
He opens different kind of door every morning,
expecting another surprise for that day.
Craving for another adventure,
waiting for another experiences.

He is always new,

He is always mad.

There's a chair in the corner of the room
Sit.
You might want to sit.
Sit, as I stab you slowly with my words.
Sit, as I let you taste the juices of my words.
Sit.
Here.
I promise it won't be as hurt as what you have done to me.

I just have to spend
all my sleepless nights
sitting at the porch
holding a glass full of hope
wondering if you feel
the same way
as I feel about you,
each and every seconds of the day.

I took off my coat and my sneakers,
threw myself on the bed, as if I’m home.
I felt the cold sheet massaging my body,
I have left this bed for a long time.

I never want to get up.
After a long and exhausted adventurous love trip,
I never want to leave.
I don’t want to missed my next love trip without you again.