We are screaming heartbreak songs at the top of our lungs on top of buildings.
And our hair dance to the rhythm of our own hearts beating.
Cheers to the weekend and the secrets only we know how to keep.
YOU ARE READING
Blooming thoughts.
PoetryAnd the flowers that he grew in my lungs turned to wilted flowers, making it harder to breathe. And then the rain made them bloom again.
