Suffering is inevitable;
you just have to accept it and
trust that better days will follow.

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Glad I'm the girl being talked about,
not the miserable one doing the talking.

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I didn’t leave you — I crawled out of the wreckage you called love, torn and bleeding, but alive. I stopped returning the moment I realized love shouldn't feel like survival and you never really lost me… you just kept breaking me until there was nothing left to give.

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We are not finished.
We are just beginning.

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She doesn’t pretend to love—
because her love isn’t born out of lust.
She doesn’t chase bodies, she connects with souls.
A real woman loves deep, or not at all.

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You know what’s attractive?
It’s the way he says,
'I will take care of that.'

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Sometimes, I just can’t understand him.
He says one thing, but his heart screams another.
He breaks me with his words,
cuts me open with anger—
then, as if nothing happened,
he pulls me close,
whispering love like a balm over fresh wounds.

He’s a storm I can’t outrun,
a fire I can’t put out.
Mad, unpredictable—
but he is my madness.
And I love him,
more than I should, more than he knows.

No one has held him in so long.
No one has kissed away his pain.
No one has truly loved him the way he deserves.
And so he doesn’t know how to receive it,
doesn’t know what to do with the hands that want to heal him.

I see it all.
I know what he wants,
I know where he is lost.
But what can I do?
I cannot fix what he won’t let me touch.

So I wait.
Because love asks for patience.
But how long can he hold on?
How long before he walks away again?

If love were easy, it wouldn’t be real.
And if it weren’t this hard,
it wouldn’t be this deep.

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I will stay for you, but know this—
I will never truly be yours again.

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Everyone is lost in their own world, aren’t they?
Caught up in their own storms, their own dreams.
Yet, some long to be lost—
Not in solitude, but in someone’s presence.
But there is no hand to pull them in, no voice calling their name.

Some people, even when surrounded by many,
Feel like ghosts in a crowd.
Invisible. Forgotten.
Only remembered when needed,
Only sought when useful.

The truth cuts deep—
A wound that never truly heals.
But what else can one do?
Silence doesn’t rewrite reality,
And pretending doesn’t make the ache go away.

Everyone is selfish.
Unapologetically.
Unforgivably.
Selfish.

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He moves like time, slow but certain.
I wait like fate, knowing he'll return.

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