ReadSunshine

I'm almost never angry but all the hurt I've bottled inside me make me look like I'm someone with rage.

I find poetry in him. The way he smiles so shy, you can literally see his lashes falling on his cheeks. It's like He's just made of soft rhymes and pretty pink skies.

Our childhood home holds the memories of our relationship better than we do.

All my heartbreaks belong to my home.

Sometimes you don't even hate the person, it's the fact that you loved them more than they could ever love you.

We could’ve been so many things, yet we end up being nothing.

And no one would believe but I was never an angry child, I was just lost, misunderstood amd frustrated.

"I wish I could just give up, but I don’t know what it is inside me that just won’t let me go."

It's so ironic that I always crave to be at home and at the same time feels like running away whenever I'm at home.

I wish I could escape my younger self from that mess of a childhood.

I didn't realize since when I became the angry adults I always hated.

Being a girl is a spectrum between wanting someone like your father and hating yourself because You're like your father.

August just smells different, doesn’t it? It’s as if there’s something else in the air — maybe a bit of love blooming in the dusty breeze, or maybe someone’s heart breaking behind a closed door, shattered by the very person they thought they’d have forever with at the start of the year.

I could pull my heart out of it's place, Just to make a home for you to stay.

It's already salt air and rust on your door time.

And my heart keeps breaking everytime I see a young girl staring at her shattered home with tears in her eyes.