dead butterflies

No, you’re not love. You’re like a poisonous apple disguised like one.

There’s something about you that reminds me of pain. Something sharp that digs deep in my bones. Something that brings back my darkest nights and bluest days. No, you’re not love. No more reviving of dead butterflies.

what if i told you there’s no such thing as start-up guide to moving on.

I love you, and for me it is enough not to let go.

have you ever ask yourself, what if the only thing you’re holding to right now is just a mere illusion, a sugar coated dream and nothing but false hope.

what if you were supposedly in love with someone yesterday, yet you were busy enough not to reply to his messages

what if the person you are waiting all this time will never ever ever comeback.

never ever. yah. never ever.

reroute the number 8

To be patient, hopeful and tired are among my medicines to survive.

To patiently wait for you to return has been part of my daily mind.

To be hopeful that one day our bittersweet memories will flashback and love will again bring you back to my arms has become an everyday dream.

To be tired, dead tired and so tired from all the shits and effs of being patient and hopeful.

i like you along with your most complicated complications.

birds with the same feather…