The Diary Of A Broken Heart

I haven't changed.

Three years and you say I have changed a bit. Well, you're kinda right I guess, but you might be wrong, for I haven't changed when it comes to the growing darkness. I still crave for it, for it is my drug. It gets me high, yet it is successful in soothing me.

I haven't changed, for my habit of rambling about the green pastures still remains. The cold winds pacify me and chill me to the bone. And yeah, I love being chilled, just like I used to.

I haven't changed, for the sunset still appears more beautiful to than the sunrise. But both kiss my soul, as fervently as they used to.

I haven't changed, for I still stay up till 4 am in the morning, the cause of such insomnia being altered drastically.

I haven't changed, for I still listen to the songs recommended by you with the same glee as I first did. They're my gold, for they were recommended by gold.

I haven't changed, for my lips curl up every time I try not express my nervousness. But somehow, my expressions still extort from my soul what I will to keep in.

I haven't changed, for I still blow out circles of smoke from my cigarette, their shape of course being altered with every puff I exhale.

I haven't changed, for my freckles are still the same. The glow on my face is temporary, the agitation being a nearly permanent one.

I haven't changed, for I still scribble stories on the back of my notebook, hoping you'd read it someday. And I write this, hoping that you know: I haven't changed.