he is my spring
and i’m his flower
a bud that blooms at his voice
and withers in his absence
my spring came with rain and
gently washed away my woes.
he is my spring
but what will happen to my bud
when it becomes
summer?

stop texting me


stop acting like we’re friends

you ran so fast to chase
after him;
so fast that
you left
yourself.

he keeps asking
why
I don't write
about him

my dear,
my sweet darling,
it is because
you
do not cause heartache
and pain
like the others did

I do not know
how
to write
when I am in love

i guess i always wondered
starting at the age of seven
why it was so easy to cry
but
so hard
to
breathe