Art is a mess. Even if I am a complete mess, paint splattered all over my walls, it still makes sense.

Lost love.
I ripped pages and pages of perfectly composed stories of where we could've been
To what we could've had
And to how we ended.
And you know what's the most craziest part about this?
The conclusion.
I loved you, while you're too busy 'loving' her.

Like I hope one day, eventually your name will be erased out of my mind.
Ur name wouldn't bring back bittersweet memories like before.
Cause then, when I am fully healed, I would be able to love someone without the unwanted toxins in it.
Anything would just be enough, eventually in time.
So I'm guessing that right now, it's just a temporary goodbye.

And the epiphany of it all was when we looked into each others eyes and I saw galaxies in yours while you saw nothing in mine.

He was my rose. my one and only unique rose.
I took care of my rose.
I gave my rose my sun, so that I can keep him warm during the coldest and frigid days.
Then I gave my rose my moon.
It was to remind him that there there's still hope during the darkest of the nights.
And then offer him my favourite.
The stars.
It was a metaphor for our intergalactic love.
No matter how much distance is stretched between us, it was for my rose to know that I'll still be here shining light on his hopes and dreams.
But my rose wilted.
My rose said that my love was not enough.
I saw galaxies in my rose's eyes but yet he couldn't find a single star in mine.
I was blinded by the thorns that came with him and yet instead I called it love.

"So is this what we are? Friends with benefits, right?"
Oh, right.