Day three without you: You don't call and everything, the songs in my bed, the pain, my chest, your name, my name with yours, your photos, my pieces, our remains, communicate.
I'm feeling like the typical teenager who one day is in love and another one is crying because someone broke his/her little and stupid heart.
Is a shit feel that kind of things, but we don't choose who we wanna love. This person just come and take all of you and then you stand here, watching how he/she leaves while you're broken once again.
In trying to teach me that everybody leaves at some point of our lives and we need to stay strong. I hope one day I will be who I am supposed to be.
YOU ARE READING
Ocean eyes.
PoetryMe dijo que no confiara en él, que no esperara algo más de su parte, que resultaría en traición. Pero la niña ingenua quizo creer que era diferente y ahora trata de desahogarse con estupideces.
