tirava-me suspiros és tão belo, tão doce tal como uma miragem com certo atrevimento tentei lhe alcançar porém não consegui pois tal como uma miragem você nem mesmo esteve ali
Adaptação de um poema que fiz em 2016, o significado é de se apaixonar por alguem que inventou uma personalidade, e na verdade, não era nada do que dizia ser.
I'm in love
with the idea of it the idea of someone I pretend that you are the idea That you are what I wish you were But really you're a dream my dream
This isn't the way it was supposed to be.
Things started out so perfectly. We were so happy, our future set in stone. Never would I imagine myself alone. But time after time, you broke my trust. What I thought was love, you felt as lust. You locked up my heart but gave her the key. I watch as you now love her and not me. I should have known it was too good to be true, But yet here I am, crying over you. Now I am left heart-broken and betrayed. How stupid I was to think you would stay. You shared love with her, knowing I was the cost, And I realize now that all hope is lost.
Side note: Your Perfect
Am I in love or am I convincing myself?
I would be a fool to be either.
It introduced itself Its personality was charming Its character was fun and great Overall it was sweet They fell for it It was fake It was an imposter The real one went everywhere with its brother Commitment and its sister Loyalty In the end They fell with it It only needed a partner in crime
The reason people fall apart once they've fall in love. It was never real coz commitment and loyalty was not there from the get go
i struggle to believe anyone could
love me, because she would only return my sentiment in texts at 3am and on intoxicated nights where all i was, was a body for her to hold and to plant kisses on high; come morning time she would’ve rolled over, eyes closed, faced away. im glad i never told her i loved her because it would’ve been a half truth a confession stained with bitter melancholy hr.
on being used
More fickle than the seasons
fragile like thawing ice attached with a firm grip clutching like a baby’s hand. Desperate but never dangerous susceptible yet not defenceless acquiescent, though a fool. They are the simpleton’s that embrace counterfeit fables, illusions of promise And at the end that makes them break