books

Feeling lost but when will I be found? I could find me. Still I sit on the rock waiting for someone to hold my hand and guide me back to myself again.

I love you the most, yet I have treated you the worst. You deserve beter. Let me give that to you...

My actions have not shown but I love you. My treasure, my price. I'll be beter for you. So I can deserve you again.

Show me... teach me.... how you want to be loved. And I'll do it right this time.

Its time to shed. It's time to let go.

You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You You Yo. Yo. Yo. Y.. Y.. ... ... ... ... ... ...

I write about you as if ink could cleanse and paper could forget. But the ink stains, and I still want.

My pen, louder than my voice, truer than my deeds.

I try to write about you in the margins, but you always end up as the headline.

I write about you as if every line might let you go. As if ink could cleanse want and paper could silence memory. Instead the ink keeps staining the papers, leaving me to crave you more.

They say if something occupies your mind, you can write it out, and the thought will leave. So I did. And I wrote about you, and I wrote about you, and I wrote about you, and I wrote about you, and I wrote about you- and still, I write about you.

"If even a sliver of your soul longs for mine, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve it."

Stuck between the beginning and the place where our story should have never ended.

Even the gold which my kingdom is so proud of, is no match for the brilliance emanating from you, my lady. Even flowers at the height of their beauty, blooming in profusion, would feel ashamed in your presence.

She is a topic better left untouched, and yet, she’s never further than a thought away.