• amsterdam 103w

    Some days I want to write about beautiful things in rose-scented words shimmering with pretty metaphors. But it's funny how I always end up stabbing the blank sheets with the words straight from my core, flexing what's bottled up inside in black and white honesty.

    From a distance, they look ugly with scars of different shapes and sizes mimicking heartbreaks from then and now. Upon closer inspection, they magnify the strength I once had, reminding me of the times I defied death (heartbreak) even if it looks a lot more like me now.

    Truth be told, you don't die from a mere heartbreak. It does more than that. Much more that sometimes, it isn't surprising when it completely turns someone into a totally different human, he himself doesn't even recognize and like. I guess it's worse than dying. When you're still breathing but has long been dead inside.

    When you die every day just to stay alive.


    *it doesn't make sense so don't get confused and move on.
    Thank you, @writersnetwork ������✨

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