You and I, no one else, we will meet here, nowhere else, in the bed of roses, not in broken promises, we will talk about heaven, not what befalls us, at the break of every dawn, not in broken silhouettes, You and I, no one else, in the exiled poetries, nowhere else.
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The more they love you, care for you and think of your happiness , the rare are the chances to get such true people in your life. No matter what happens they will stand right besides you. That even if you hurt them, take them for granted they will not change your place in their heart and will be right there for you on the other side of a text or a call .
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Save the time for the moment of collision, hummingbirds sufferings, and love, lest you perish. My love is yellow, red, pale, and blue. Yellow. My soul, how weird it is to be the weird amidst weirds. Red, My lungs lack sympathy and exhale empathy. Pale, I am neither hostile nor am I patient. Blue, You are mine, and I am not yours, but why are you not yours?
Who's left? Black and greys! Oh, those two are just after-effects of summoning the love in the wrong place.
Sometimes, it's not the faces. It's just a vivid moment the other person gives, so much so that you can explicitly see in their heart a paradise, a home, one or two kids, a paddock, and you selfishly desiring to live therein. I talked myself out of the two facets but then decided to be both.
Love is the road of the patient ones, of the ones who are patient enough to find themselves again. Love doesn't happen overnight. Nope, it doesn't happen at a glance, though it takes a forbidden glance to lose it. It had already happened where the souls meet before the bodies do.
On the stairway to her haven, there are broken pieces of my heart on every step. That's how love is. That's how people find the one. By trampling their own hearts, As it has always been.