Lis-tes-ratures(bis)

No revenge because you’ve already been punished; you lost me. And you can't be loved so purely twice in a lifetime.

After having experienced it myself I concluded that most of the greatest writers must have been sad people, because when you're happy, you don't have time to write about how you feel—you're too busy living it.

How can I believe in your genuine and pure intentions when the world has only had bad ones?

It rained so hard in my head, and it was so dark for so long that I'm having a hard time accepting your rays of sunshine.

How could I let myself love you? As only fools fall in love.

You wanted us to heal together, but I’m so afraid of hurting you in the process.

I couldn’t sleep because I was hurting so bad. And now, look at me, I can’t sleep because reality seems so beautiful that I’m afraid it might end if I fall asleep.

How am I supposed to sleep with the heart pounding like that?

With time I realized, real love isn’t loud and passionate. It doesn’t lies in big gestures. In fact, it’s quiet, and reassuring. It’s nourishing without going over the top. It might seem boring but it’s slowly completing you, without you even noticing.

Sometimes losing your spark doesn’t seems like lying in bed for hours in the dark, skipping meals, or crying. Sometimes it’s laughing out loud with friends, eating your favorite foods and no longer enjoying them, spending hours playing the same games, going shopping without buying anything. Sometimes the change is so invisible that you don’t realize until it’s too late and it’s gone. You’re empty, you were like that all this time. You were like that for so long that you didn’t noticed the change.

Some days I’m writing about him and it’s an outlet and other days it’s a punishment.