I wrote about thousand poems about you. You've never read them. But that's ok.
I'm learning to be ok with the fact that I will never be yours again. But even though I can't stop dreaming about you. Your hair. Your eyes. You voice. I'm sure I will forget you some day. It's just, everything seemed to be so perfect. But it was just an illusion. Actually I'm not sure which is messier my live or my hair.
