All good things come to an end, even feelings, love. It fades away. We're not friends, not even enemies. We're just strangers with memories. I used to believe that being inlove is, a good feeling. It feels so good to love and you don't even know that you're already hurt. You don't even know that he is lying, you don't...
A (not-so) hopeless romantic writer. A weird (not-so-much of a) stranger. A lot of (denying) feelings in between. A (continuation of the online) connection that ends on 11 / 23.
A writer. A weird stranger. A lot of little conversations. An online understanding. Every night. 23:11.
