I'm obsessively thinking about unattainable taste of admirable soul.
Maybe it's in our nature to want something we shouldn't have. Maybe I can, it doesn't mean I should.
Remember when you told me that you love me for very last time? Me neither.
You waste those words, or, should I say, you waste that lovely energy of yours saying them to temporary lust.
My dear self.
I would look into your emerald doe eyes crying. Sometimes I'm jealous of how precious they look while my heart is burning from pain and ,,love?".
My love.
