There are people that you hurt. Period.
There’s no changing that. You feel certain emotions or you’re under some wicked compulsion that makes you hurt those people.
Some of them, you hurt deliberately.
Some, you would rather not have anything to do with for the rest of your life.
And then there are those who would have been the last people on earth that you would even consider hurting. But still, you end up hurting them.
You don’t want to.
But still, this is what you do.
You hurt them nonetheless.
Sure, you had your reasons.
But do those reasons let you sleep at night?
If you forget me,
I’m right beside ye.
I’m at the core of your being
I’m in the depth of your soul.
The windmills of your mind.
I’ll brand you with my love.
Brand you with what burns within.
Wear it like a badge of honour.
Oh, will you?
I’d like some plain old-fashion affection please.
I want you to show it to me in the wildest, steamiest, most carnal way possible.
I want you to hold me like I’d dissipate into the air if you don’t, and make me feel loved, wanted, needed like there isn’t another being on earth that you can replace me with.
I want you to claim the love that I’ve been keeping for you in my heart, in my soul, in the very fabric of my being.
It’s yours my love, take it. Take it and take me to the realm of our dreams, to the world where the life we imagined to spend together is a reality. Where you and I are One Whole, for all eternity.
Waiting since the dawn of time, till the end of days.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll know the truth.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll see the real you.
Let me live in the moment.
Let me love in the moment.
Love pushed me away
From the person I loved the most
I guess it’s better that way
If we stay away
For we are nothing but poison to each other
She caressed the pages of the book, like it was the skin of a long-lost lover. Her delicate fingers running through the lines on the pages, gingerly, as if the words will scramble and get sick with her touch if she’s not careful. A smile surfaced on her face when she was gazing fondly at the pages, reading a line or two, taking in the flavour of the story being told, making herself a part of it.
It was her favourite thing. Reading. It meant the world to her.