Sometimes even in the middle of the night, sweet thoughts of you saunter throughout my mind. Sometimes I let it wander, and I wonder things which I'm sorely reticent I should be thinking..

I dream of you sometimes, whenever I end up dreaming at all. I wonder still what these ideas mean or what importance they hold; what purpose they possibly condone and implore, like a veil of undeniable curiosity drawing lines in sand that beckon and ache to be crossed either way.

Sometimes I wonder what depths these thoughts and feelings may behold beyond that pale fog of what is and "what if," and sometimes I let my mind escape the frail boundaries of reality and imagination just to feel that solemn place even for a brief moment. It pierces me deeply and caresses my very soul to feel your presence even without you beside me.

Thoughts of you whisper dearly to me in echoes of visions of things that have never happened. But I still wonder, even in doubt; I still imagine, even when I deign to ignore what pleasantries it instills to think of you in every fathomable way; and often when I do, my blood may never stand still..

In silent verbal graves, my heart wanders into things my mind has shown it, and it anguishes to understand what could lie beyond the gateway of this world to the one beseeched from within my head.

How simple it could all be for nought, not so far from being as fragile and fleeting as a mere idea, that the moments where I lie within the shadows of deceit to ultimately awake away from these thoughts and visions would be the only thing keeping those dreams to hold me in feigned tranquility: a place I'd rather never awake from to begin with.

I think of you, often, dearly.. I think of you, and I always wonder a million things: every part of your mind and soul. I think of you.

But I think to myself, most of all, if I'm eternally alone in these thoughts; and the night becomes lucid, and I sleep in trifling silence devoid of any dreams at all.

Still, I think, of you.

I Don’t Say It Enough

I don’t say it enough,
But loving you was tough.
Every little thing
Could either make me spring
Or devour my ink.

What if it’s not true?
What if you leave me soon,
Leaving me to feel like a loon?
This thinking eats at my soul.

Yes, the chains are holding me back—
That’s something I can’t deny; it’s a fact.
But do I love you less?
No, still, you make me feel like a mess.

I’m sorry I don’t say it enough,
But loving you is tough.

Once upon a time there was a little girl
a girl who was smiling and laughing
being a happy little girl
but then she lost the most important woman in her life
she lost a piece of her heart
she wasn't smiling anymore nor laughing
she started being by herself


she grew up
lonely and sad
carving her skin
starving herself
crying at night
missing her mother

Then she met him
he said he could heal her but instead he ripped her heart out of her chest
leaving her alone to die

she had lost everything
and to this day
she sits by her window
and wishes that she could jump and feel how the wind hugs her and holds her tight for a second
and then she could be in peace
and no one remembering her or missing her

thats the story of a girl who lost everything

There I few things that I truly crave but my unattainable goal is love
I want people to love me I want bestie I crave a person that I love me quirks and all I yearn a relationship

The amount of love I see seeping from every other person has given me a taste for something I can never have
The people play my heartstrings for never reciprocatethe tune

I spend my limited days on this earth in my fortress of solitude yearning for anyone that would take me as theirs welcome me in there arms

Depression is like a deep abyss
Once you fall in
You can almost never get out

You claw at the walls of the hole
Using all of your strength
To climb to the surface
The effort is grueling
But you have a spark of hope
That you're strong enough

But a stone falls from above
Catching you off guard
And you fall once again
Landing ******* the cold floor
Right back where you started

Your body is weak and exhausted
The attempt to save yourself
Is taking its toll
You lie on your back
Gazing up at the light
Coming from the entrance of the chasm
But you are too weary to try again
So you lay there
As your hope fades away

Did you ever think he hadn’t tried,
To see the world through your weary eyes?
He thought of you in every breath he took,
But now it seems you never cared to look.

It wasn’t beauty alone that made him stay,
But the way your flaws lit up the day.
He saw the cracks, the scars, the pain,
And loved you through the storm and rain.

He couldn't give roses or petals in bloom,
But he offered his heart to light up the gloom.
A token here, a gesture there—
His love was wrapped in ways unfair.

But maybe now, that feels too small,
As if his efforts were nothing at all.
The gifts he gave, the time he spent,
Seem lost in a sea of discontent.

You were the world, the stars, the sky,
Yet somehow, he failed in your eyes.
He wonders if you’ll ever see,
How much you truly meant to be.

For now, it feels like his love was missed,
Like all he gave was easily dismissed.
But deep inside, he knows it’s true—
He cherished every part of you.

Why do I have to earn the salvation I seek?
To be so intervened in discomfort so deeply,
I sculpture a home in it,
I bestride me in delusion,
My inconsistence towards my self,
Ignites a flame in which I burn alive,
Thus
My memories are mere ashes
And I no longer remember your name nor mine,
My inconsistency of will,
Of mind and thoughts,
Of love,
Of meaning,
It invokes of my burdens and failure,
Bewitched to inconspicuousness,
Nothing descends upon me,
But mountain of realization,
That transgresses on all my hopes,
I am hopeless,
A fool,
A puppet of the greatest puppeteer,
An unvalued one,
My theory is based off nothing,
Thus,
I am too a void,
Driven to soak up everyone's essence,
Desperate as a sponge.

Dearest Helpless,

I've grown tired of your self-pity
and lack of self-esteem,
the constant whining,
the ******* and complaining,
from morning 'til evening.

Always the same story,
never getting better.
Engraved in my memory,
I can recite it completely,
even reminding you at times
of the parts you're forgetting.

Years have passed,
and I see now
what I once thought
was a momentary lapse
in your heartbroken reasoning
has become your whole being.

No need to explain yourself.
I know who you are:
emotionally greedy,
wanting everything,
giving back nothing.

I remember times
when you were happy,
but daydreams awoke
to confuse reality,
what you thought was happening,
wasn't taking place at all.

I've stopped calling,
inviting you out with my friends,
who become your friends too.
I can't sit across from you,
listening to you complain
that you have no friends,
when one sits before you,
and another calls to see
what you're doing.

Maybe you'd be better off
in another country,
away from this city,
truly alone instead of pretending.
But I fear you'd fall in love
with a tree, a bird, or something
and end up with a broken heart
because your affection's object
is not a human being.

If you don't understand love,
speak nothing of it.
Study another subject.

I've lied to you
since the beginning.
I don't have the answers
to your questions.
I know nothing at all,
addicted to talking ****
when I'm not interested.

Share your story
with someone who hasn't heard it.
Maybe they'll have the answers
since mine don't seem to be helping.

I thought about introducing you
to someone new,
but three years later,
after your broken-hearted record plays,
they'd find themselves late
one Sunday evening,
surrounded by friends,
writing you a letter
to explain their feelings,
for they too have grown tired
of the same old story.

History repeats itself
when our patterns
become a habit.
But you never listened,
so I'll stop talking
and end this.

Sincerely,
A friend who will miss your stories.