You are not just made of atoms,
of something biologically explained.
You are made of liquid sunsets,
of silver dots when the sky is dark and calm,
of soft raindrops,
of green fields,
of waves in the ocean.
You are made of miracles
I never thought would come.
why do most writers and poets write about pain? yes, why do i write about you?
you left me with the fork. what's the use of this when all that we had was a soup?
can i tell you something? i don't think about you anymore.
can i be honest? i lied.
I love you because you demand your dreams into existence. I love you because you love the skies in peach, light orange and a shade of purple. I love you because you always made me think of the starry night when I'm with you.
You told me I was the moon and you are the planet. You promised to love me eventhough I have different phases. I found out that you are the planet Mars and I am not your only moon.
deep conversation under blanket of stars,