Jun 29, 2020
the thing about being loved by a writer is that, even if you keep living forever in their words, you never know what words are really yours.
I wish i could read everything you ever wrote about me, for me, how you saw me and felt me, trying to find where everything went wrong.
we planned a future together, maybe that was immature, thinking we could last that long, but how did it fall apart so suddenly?
maybe it was sudden just for us, i always tought we wouldn’t last until the end, you always told me i was wrong.
some days i read all our messages, missing you, even tought we don’t fit together anymore
now, our edges would just hurt each other
