Some things are not destined to reach their owner..
To remain stuck in one's soul like a slow-killing poison..
In order to save themselves,they must free them..
And here,we witness the tip of the pens from a story whose favorite place was "distances...
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I’ve written a lot for you and I’m still writing.. I don’t know if you read any of them.. Sometimes I think,would I have gotten to this point if I hadn’t heard anything that day, hadn’t said what he shouldn’t have said? I have a lot of questions about you in my mind,questions that have no answers, I will only learn from you.. Didn’t you ever love me,even a little bit?! Is it really possible for God to show me signs of something that didn’t exist in the first place? Do you remember when I wrote to you for weeks that I cried because of my failed attempts to forget you? Absolutely not, you don’t even know about them.. But today I am writing in many essays,trying really hard to bring tears to my eyes, to ease my pain,to vomit everything inside me and to pour your love from my heart.. You’re weird, you’re not actually… But your mixed signals confuse my heart like no one has done before.. There is nothing I can do,you do what you want to and you go.. As always,this message will remain one of many I write.. Will stay.. -Losing feelings-
