#deepfeelings - Hello Poetry

#deepfeelings

They tell me to find the perfect man, but I think of you the only one who can make me smile, cry, rejoice, get angry… feel alive. The only one I’m never ashamed of. The only one I’m truly afraid of losing. You complete me, you make every day feel special. You are my soulmate. Oh, how I wish you were the one. We’re such a mess together, and yet, with you, everything feels lighter. What do I care about being what they forbid me to be, if being with you feels like home? My happy place. My person of the heart.

0

7d ago

May 27, 2026 at 3:48 PM UTC

Such a mess together

They tell me to find the perfect man, but I think of you the only one who can make me smile, cry, rejoice, get angry… feel alive. The only one I’m never ashamed of. The only one I’m truly afraid of losing. You complete me, you make every day feel special. You are my soulmate. Oh, how I wish you were the one. We’re such a mess together, and yet, with you, everything feels lighter. What do I care about being what they forbid me to be, if being with you feels like home? My happy place. My person of the heart.

Continue reading...

it’s not sad. it’s not wrong. but in 2026 you can scream and still not be understood the way you should be. you can stay where there are no signs, where the ***** wait for you in the harbor, and still be forgotten in a moment. we both know: flowers arrive when it’s too late to feel them, or even think, for a second, “these are beautiful.” the dice were thrown with the wrong calculation. and suddenly, you become everything you were never allowed to be in their eyes. don’t cry. and I wonder — who does it hurt more, between us? you, the reader, beyond the screen, or me, the one who twists words like knives in a wound? only… you’re not here anymore to hear it. or to see it. so— who am I talking to?

0

May 4

May 4, 2026 at 5:17 PM UTC

Who Am I Talking To?

it’s not sad. it’s not wrong. but in 2026 you can scream and still not be understood the way you should be. you can stay where there are no signs, where the ***** wait for you in the harbor, and still be forgotten in a moment. we both know: flowers arrive when it’s too late to feel them, or even think, for a second, “these are beautiful.” the dice were thrown with the wrong calculation. and suddenly, you become everything you were never allowed to be in their eyes. don’t cry. and I wonder — who does it hurt more, between us? you, the reader, beyond the screen, or me, the one who twists words like knives in a wound? only… you’re not here anymore to hear it. or to see it. so— who am I talking to?

Continue reading...

Life isn’t really worthless— unless I’m trying to love less than the rhythm in my chest whispers when you’re close enough to feel it. There’s creation in your touch, every brushstroke of skin an art piece— unless the soul beneath my hands starts fearing it was birthless before you breathed warmth into it. You move through my silence like a verse I’d rehearsed with— turning quiet breaths into music, turning longing into purpose. Because love isn’t something we search for— it’s something our bodies remember when they finally meet the right pulse.

0

Mar 15

Mar 15, 2026 at 2:59 PM UTC

Life isn’t really worthless— unless I’m trying to love less than the rhythm in my chest whispers when you’re close enough to feel it. There’s creation in your touch, every brushstroke of skin an art piece— unless the soul beneath my hands starts fearing it was birthless before you breathed warmth into it. You move through my silence like a verse I’d rehearsed with— turning quiet breaths into music, turning longing into purpose. Because love isn’t something we search for— it’s something our bodies remember when they finally meet the right pulse.

Continue reading...

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.

0

Mar 12

Mar 12, 2026 at 8:46 PM UTC

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.

Continue reading...

Hey, I live nearer to you than your own breath, shining quietly through your eyes as if my light had chosen them for its dwelling. My presence is brighter than the moon’s calm glow, yet softer than the first light touching a sleeping garden. If I were to step into that garden, flowers would lower their heads, and even the tall poplar would bow to the grace I carry. My voice could humble the lily famed for speaking in a hundred tongues, for there is a silence in me deeper than all words. When I am kind, I am gentler than the soul itself; but when I withdraw, my distance feels colder than an empty winter sky. I am wild in spirit, untamed and free, yet when you meet me face to face, something in my quiet strength makes you still and soft like the patient earth after rain. Cast away your armor, stand without fear, for no shield is stronger than the truth I carry within. That is why, when I turn away from the noise of the world, I close every crack in the wall of my heart, so no outer light can enter and deceive me. I know well - it is only the light within you that truly illuminates my world Work from: To her who already knows ?

0

Feb 16

Feb 16, 2026 at 12:18 PM UTC

to-her-who-already-knows

You Are Closer to Me Than Myself!!!

Hey, I live nearer to you than your own breath, shining quietly through your eyes as if my light had chosen them for its dwelling. My presence is brighter than the moon’s calm glow, yet softer than the first light touching a sleeping garden. If I were to step into that garden, flowers would lower their heads, and even the tall poplar would bow to the grace I carry. My voice could humble the lily famed for speaking in a hundred tongues, for there is a silence in me deeper than all words. When I am kind, I am gentler than the soul itself; but when I withdraw, my distance feels colder than an empty winter sky. I am wild in spirit, untamed and free, yet when you meet me face to face, something in my quiet strength makes you still and soft like the patient earth after rain. Cast away your armor, stand without fear, for no shield is stronger than the truth I carry within. That is why, when I turn away from the noise of the world, I close every crack in the wall of my heart, so no outer light can enter and deceive me. I know well - it is only the light within you that truly illuminates my world Work from: To her who already knows ?

Continue reading...

I don’t try to read you — I just hear you before you speak. Your silence has a frequency, and my ribs are a tuning fork. I was trained in the language of flinches, in the dialect of door-slams, in the grammar of breath held too long. So when your smile sits crooked on a sentence that says “I’m fine,” I see the typo. I don’t mean to notice — it’s muscle memory. My nervous system grew up studying micro-expressions like scripture. I can feel the bruise beneath your bravado. Smell the smoke from fires you swear are out. You think you’re hidden — but hurt has a posture. Trauma has a tone. And I have lived there long enough to recognise the furniture. People open to me like overfilled drawers — secrets spilling into my lap before they’ve learned my surname. They say, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” And I want to say, because I know the shape of breaking. Because my eyes don’t judge fractures — they map them. I don’t go looking for pain. It just hums. And I hum back. Maybe it’s the way I hold space like a door that’s never slammed. Maybe it’s the softness survivors carry when they refuse to harden. Maybe it’s because I survived what should have silenced me and chose to stay gentle anyway. Empathy isn’t a gift I unwrapped — it’s a scar that learned to listen. I can spot the child still standing inside the adult. The tremor behind the temper. The apology lodged in a throat that never learned safety. And I don’t expose it. I cradle it. That’s the strange thing — I never meant to be a lighthouse. I was just trying to stay afloat. But ships find me. Storm-worn. Hull cracked. Carrying cargo they can’t dock anywhere else. And I let them anchor. Not because I’m strong all the time — but because I know what it feels like to pray someone would see through me and not turn away. I don’t read minds. I read survival. And when your past recognises mine, it relaxes. That’s not magic. That’s mirror. And maybe the reason they tell me everything is because somewhere in my eyes they see this: You’re safe here. I’ve been there too.

0

Feb 13

Feb 13, 2026 at 1:07 PM UTC

Anonymous_Flame

I don’t try to read you — I just hear you before you speak. Your silence has a frequency, and my ribs are a tuning fork. I was trained in the language of flinches, in the dialect of door-slams, in the grammar of breath held too long. So when your smile sits crooked on a sentence that says “I’m fine,” I see the typo. I don’t mean to notice — it’s muscle memory. My nervous system grew up studying micro-expressions like scripture. I can feel the bruise beneath your bravado. Smell the smoke from fires you swear are out. You think you’re hidden — but hurt has a posture. Trauma has a tone. And I have lived there long enough to recognise the furniture. People open to me like overfilled drawers — secrets spilling into my lap before they’ve learned my surname. They say, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” And I want to say, because I know the shape of breaking. Because my eyes don’t judge fractures — they map them. I don’t go looking for pain. It just hums. And I hum back. Maybe it’s the way I hold space like a door that’s never slammed. Maybe it’s the softness survivors carry when they refuse to harden. Maybe it’s because I survived what should have silenced me and chose to stay gentle anyway. Empathy isn’t a gift I unwrapped — it’s a scar that learned to listen. I can spot the child still standing inside the adult. The tremor behind the temper. The apology lodged in a throat that never learned safety. And I don’t expose it. I cradle it. That’s the strange thing — I never meant to be a lighthouse. I was just trying to stay afloat. But ships find me. Storm-worn. Hull cracked. Carrying cargo they can’t dock anywhere else. And I let them anchor. Not because I’m strong all the time — but because I know what it feels like to pray someone would see through me and not turn away. I don’t read minds. I read survival. And when your past recognises mine, it relaxes. That’s not magic. That’s mirror. And maybe the reason they tell me everything is because somewhere in my eyes they see this: You’re safe here. I’ve been there too.

Continue reading...

If Life Is A Drama And God The Scenarist If We Are Just Actors And This World A Stage Then After My Death I Would Like To Ask God The Lord Do I deserve An Oscar ? Coz His Script Isn't Really Easy For Me To Go With The Flow But Anyway I Manage To Live It Though Yo Untill This Life Ends In Peace Bro . - Nis ...

0

Feb 13

Feb 13, 2026 at 8:44 AM UTC

" Life A Drama "

If Life Is A Drama And God The Scenarist If We Are Just Actors And This World A Stage Then After My Death I Would Like To Ask God The Lord Do I deserve An Oscar ? Coz His Script Isn't Really Easy For Me To Go With The Flow But Anyway I Manage To Live It Though Yo Untill This Life Ends In Peace Bro . - Nis ...

Continue reading...

I keep my heart in a locked glass case, not to keep you out, but to see who stays. I speak in storms and half-finished thoughts, in silences heavier than what I forgot. I’ve built my walls from careful fear, bricked with doubt year after year— and when you trace the cracks with your hand, I almost let you in. I almost stand. “Am I hard to love or am I too hard to understand?” The question trembles where I land.

0

Feb 12

Feb 12, 2026 at 9:34 PM UTC

DeepFeelingPoems

Am I hard to love or am I too hard to understand?

I keep my heart in a locked glass case, not to keep you out, but to see who stays. I speak in storms and half-finished thoughts, in silences heavier than what I forgot. I’ve built my walls from careful fear, bricked with doubt year after year— and when you trace the cracks with your hand, I almost let you in. I almost stand. “Am I hard to love or am I too hard to understand?” The question trembles where I land.

Continue reading...

When I look into her eyes, I do not see eyes -I see a silent ocean teaching the moon how to shine. Two deep wells where the night comes to drink, And my wandering soul forgets its own name. There is a garden growing inside that gaze, Petals made of light, roots made of secrets. Time sits down there like a tired traveler, And even pain forgets the road back home. Her eyes are not windows; They are doors left half-open by the divine. I step in, and suddenly I am no longer a man, But a drop returning to its sea. Something in them calls me The way the sky calls the birds at dusk, The way silence calls the prayer. No words, no promises - Just a pull older than memory. In that dark, shining depth, My storms grow quiet, My questions lose their hunger, And I begin to understand That love is not something I found there… It is something that was waiting To find me. So I keep returning to that sacred place, Not to look,But to dissolve!!!

0

Feb 6

Feb 6, 2026 at 9:02 AM UTC

to-her-who-already-knows

A Sea Hidden in Her Eyes

When I look into her eyes, I do not see eyes -I see a silent ocean teaching the moon how to shine. Two deep wells where the night comes to drink, And my wandering soul forgets its own name. There is a garden growing inside that gaze, Petals made of light, roots made of secrets. Time sits down there like a tired traveler, And even pain forgets the road back home. Her eyes are not windows; They are doors left half-open by the divine. I step in, and suddenly I am no longer a man, But a drop returning to its sea. Something in them calls me The way the sky calls the birds at dusk, The way silence calls the prayer. No words, no promises - Just a pull older than memory. In that dark, shining depth, My storms grow quiet, My questions lose their hunger, And I begin to understand That love is not something I found there… It is something that was waiting To find me. So I keep returning to that sacred place, Not to look,But to dissolve!!!

Continue reading...

A friend of mine would always say no to photos— no to capturing moments, no to recording memories. And I often wondered why. Maybe she was shy, conscious of the camera, maybe she didn’t like pictures, or felt insecure. But I was wrong. I’ve lately realised that for her, moments captured in the heart are far more precious than filtered clips and forced smiles. She may not—or cannot—share those moments with the world, nor explain them through words or proofs. Yet she can feel them, and relive them on a gentle loop, safely secured in her tiny heart.

0

Dec 25, 2025

Dec 25, 2025 at 7:54 AM UTC

Captured in the Heart

A friend of mine would always say no to photos— no to capturing moments, no to recording memories. And I often wondered why. Maybe she was shy, conscious of the camera, maybe she didn’t like pictures, or felt insecure. But I was wrong. I’ve lately realised that for her, moments captured in the heart are far more precious than filtered clips and forced smiles. She may not—or cannot—share those moments with the world, nor explain them through words or proofs. Yet she can feel them, and relive them on a gentle loop, safely secured in her tiny heart.

Continue reading...

Silence isn’t empty, it speaks in its own way — of unspoken thoughts, and words we couldn’t say. It holds the weight of longing, the comfort of the near, the ache of distant memories, the truths we never hear. In silence, hearts are louder, their echoes linger deep, a language beyond voices, a promise we still keep.

0

Dec 5, 2025

Dec 5, 2025 at 2:21 AM UTC

The Language of Stillness

Silence isn’t empty, it speaks in its own way — of unspoken thoughts, and words we couldn’t say. It holds the weight of longing, the comfort of the near, the ache of distant memories, the truths we never hear. In silence, hearts are louder, their echoes linger deep, a language beyond voices, a promise we still keep.

Continue reading...

_autumn tears..._ falling for you __all over again__ we’re just friends in the __present tense__ making amends like cracks filled with silence __tears of yesterday__ still water my lawn i’ve been banking on a love that never matured just an emotion __on loan__ tell me— do you rest your hand under your chin like I did when you’re alone? sharp edges on my mind but it feels __pointless to forget you__ to accept you is to accept __not having you at all__ the drink of your love I could never finish— you were too tall too much too deep __too far__ you poured yourself out for me and I drank greedy we kissed like language like memory and I felt the shiver __escape your pores__ so why can’t I __escape your love?__

0

Jun 12, 2025

Jun 12, 2025 at 3:02 PM UTC

When Love Was a Gesture

_autumn tears..._ falling for you __all over again__ we’re just friends in the __present tense__ making amends like cracks filled with silence __tears of yesterday__ still water my lawn i’ve been banking on a love that never matured just an emotion __on loan__ tell me— do you rest your hand under your chin like I did when you’re alone? sharp edges on my mind but it feels __pointless to forget you__ to accept you is to accept __not having you at all__ the drink of your love I could never finish— you were too tall too much too deep __too far__ you poured yourself out for me and I drank greedy we kissed like language like memory and I felt the shiver __escape your pores__ so why can’t I __escape your love?__

Continue reading...

Giving fake smiles... Hiding pain infront of family... Confusion of what to share and what to hide... Fear of perspective changes... Fed up with sympathy around... Being unloved... One side efforts... Losing loved ones ... Getting stranger vibes from close ones... Taking blame without fault... Lack of clarity in life... Handling panics on your own... Bad? Probably the worst!! The silent struggles people go through — especially the pain that hides behind a smile and the burden of emotional isolation.

0

May 18, 2025

May 18, 2025 at 12:20 AM UTC

Painful moments...

Giving fake smiles... Hiding pain infront of family... Confusion of what to share and what to hide... Fear of perspective changes... Fed up with sympathy around... Being unloved... One side efforts... Losing loved ones ... Getting stranger vibes from close ones... Taking blame without fault... Lack of clarity in life... Handling panics on your own... Bad? Probably the worst!! The silent struggles people go through — especially the pain that hides behind a smile and the burden of emotional isolation.

Continue reading...

Late at night I look up at the sky.... And think about all the reasons why.... I love you and I realised that soon I'll have to say goodbye.. Late at night ,I wonder why you don't feel the same... And think to myself ,I had feelings for u ever since u came.... And now all I'm feeling is pain.... Late at night,I think about when you u gone... And wonder how am I going to to move on... Cause I have no clue ,what am I going to do.... Knowing that I keep falling deeper in love with you...

0

Nov 17, 2019

Nov 17, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC

''The Night Sky''

Late at night I look up at the sky.... And think about all the reasons why.... I love you and I realised that soon I'll have to say goodbye.. Late at night ,I wonder why you don't feel the same... And think to myself ,I had feelings for u ever since u came.... And now all I'm feeling is pain.... Late at night,I think about when you u gone... And wonder how am I going to to move on... Cause I have no clue ,what am I going to do.... Knowing that I keep falling deeper in love with you...

Continue reading...

im the killer of my own dreams, the ******* murderer of my desires, the one who holds my emotions hostage and who holds a pistol against my own throat just in case i even think to dare to speak... i cuss myself out so tears won't leave my eyes i threaten my own life to quiet down the silent screams of my soul i stand the **** up against the girl who constantly looks back at me... destroyed, hurt, bleeding hands, swelled up eyes, barely beating hurt ... in front of the mirror im the devious prince in my own story ... but i still wonder if i can be my own knight in shinning armor to come rescue me from my own self...

0

Jul 30, 2018

Jul 30, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC

marcia-villavicencio

My own destruction

im the killer of my own dreams, the ******* murderer of my desires, the one who holds my emotions hostage and who holds a pistol against my own throat just in case i even think to dare to speak... i cuss myself out so tears won't leave my eyes i threaten my own life to quiet down the silent screams of my soul i stand the **** up against the girl who constantly looks back at me... destroyed, hurt, bleeding hands, swelled up eyes, barely beating hurt ... in front of the mirror im the devious prince in my own story ... but i still wonder if i can be my own knight in shinning armor to come rescue me from my own self...

Continue reading...

Every feeling drawn from so much depth, That I have to learn to embrace the deep, The blackness of the pit with no echo, The unreachable place from which they creep. I’ve not been privileged to love shallowly, Nor unrequited love not quench my soul, Nor experience of fleeting sadness, But to love my dark and bottomless hole. Shall I be better off without darkness? Feeling love as strong as jealous anguish? Shall I pray to never feel crushing hurt? So loving shall be an incomplete wish? How often rejection brought me despair! Oh to be hopeful as my hopelessness! The deep emptiness that ***** down my pain, Is the same depth from which I can’t love less. Emptiness do not fill up with healing! That dark abyss is my space for feeling.

0

Jun 14, 2018

Jun 14, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC

not_thepoet_hewantstobe

Every feeling drawn from so much depth, That I have to learn to embrace the deep, The blackness of the pit with no echo, The unreachable place from which they creep. I’ve not been privileged to love shallowly, Nor unrequited love not quench my soul, Nor experience of fleeting sadness, But to love my dark and bottomless hole. Shall I be better off without darkness? Feeling love as strong as jealous anguish? Shall I pray to never feel crushing hurt? So loving shall be an incomplete wish? How often rejection brought me despair! Oh to be hopeful as my hopelessness! The deep emptiness that ***** down my pain, Is the same depth from which I can’t love less. Emptiness do not fill up with healing! That dark abyss is my space for feeling.

Continue reading...

it's crazy how my tears still drowning when i hear a word 'you' i wanna feel nothing like literally nothing i just.. i wanna forget things about myself, getting lost, changing my personal identity, starting a new life, i don't know i don't even know it.. i admit it now that i cant seem to find someone like you someone that always be there for me no matter what no matter how hard i was but you still there and here.. if you only knew i'm just sappy knowing that you're happy with her more than mine.. and if you only knew til these days i haven't met someone that treated me the way you treated me.. i know it sounds crazy that you've done the worst thing ever in my life but the truth is.. what if the worst you is all that i need? and what if you were the only one who could swim in all of my weaknesses with so much patient? we've been through so much pressure and still no matter what you made it like you could worked that out again.. i know 'sorry' means nothing to you anymore and i know that you're hating me after all this time but i can't i just can't.. from the bottom of my heart please please be the happiest cause you deserve more than mine in this world i want you to keep that forever ,and ever..

0

Sep 18, 2016

Sep 18, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC

it's crazy how my tears still drowning when i hear a word 'you' i wanna feel nothing like literally nothing i just.. i wanna forget things about myself, getting lost, changing my personal identity, starting a new life, i don't know i don't even know it.. i admit it now that i cant seem to find someone like you someone that always be there for me no matter what no matter how hard i was but you still there and here.. if you only knew i'm just sappy knowing that you're happy with her more than mine.. and if you only knew til these days i haven't met someone that treated me the way you treated me.. i know it sounds crazy that you've done the worst thing ever in my life but the truth is.. what if the worst you is all that i need? and what if you were the only one who could swim in all of my weaknesses with so much patient? we've been through so much pressure and still no matter what you made it like you could worked that out again.. i know 'sorry' means nothing to you anymore and i know that you're hating me after all this time but i can't i just can't.. from the bottom of my heart please please be the happiest cause you deserve more than mine in this world i want you to keep that forever ,and ever..

Continue reading...

I wish.. I wish i wasn't a stone cold so i don't have to make you wait for every second, minute, and hour.. I wish.. I wish i could grabbed your arms around me Like you did to her everyday.. I wish.. I wish i could cuddle with you Like she did with you in the late night.. I wish.. I wish i could have one day to fix everything up Like you always did to me even when i didn't.. I wish.. I wish i could live inside your emotions Like she could live inside yours.. I wish.. I wish i could be your bad temper Like you did to swim inside my weaknesses.. I wish.. I wish i didn't give up too easily with you Like you'd never did to me (ever) I wish.. I wish i could be like her So i don't have to say goodbye to you forever..

0

Sep 17, 2016

Sep 17, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC

I wish.. I wish i wasn't a stone cold so i don't have to make you wait for every second, minute, and hour.. I wish.. I wish i could grabbed your arms around me Like you did to her everyday.. I wish.. I wish i could cuddle with you Like she did with you in the late night.. I wish.. I wish i could have one day to fix everything up Like you always did to me even when i didn't.. I wish.. I wish i could live inside your emotions Like she could live inside yours.. I wish.. I wish i could be your bad temper Like you did to swim inside my weaknesses.. I wish.. I wish i didn't give up too easily with you Like you'd never did to me (ever) I wish.. I wish i could be like her So i don't have to say goodbye to you forever..

Continue reading...

i wish i could overload Your messages Explaining the way i feel for you.

0

Apr 8, 2015

Apr 8, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC

i wish i could overload Your messages Explaining the way i feel for you.

Continue reading...