“You make me nostalgic for a love that hasn’t even happened yet.”
— Iain Thomas, I Wrote This for You
(via goodreadss )
Because I can say, honestly, that I don’t stop thinking about you, not even for a minute. you’re always there, on the back of my mind, only waiting me to lie my head on my pillow.
where did the benevolence and decorum of the universe have gone?
what do I do with the unanswered questions?
the aweless contradictions?
and situations that end before they even have the chance to start?
what do I do with these ridiculous and inevitable hopes?
because if I can’t believe and trust myself and my feelings, who am I going to believe? who am I going to trust?
She daydreams soundly
With the moon to called yours
She whispers you secrets
Of the stardom of secret worlds
Her heart desires
much more than she lets you know
walk through this cutting glass ground
Looking for someone
That once was her’s
Funny thing, It feels like I am always waiting for something. Anything.
Every second is worth it and worthless at the same time, every minute counts and every minute is a waste.
Wasting minutes and seconds, to building up into something, the thing that we all being waiting and waiting and waiting a little bit more.
The question is: what is this thing?
I don’t know. I am still trying to figured out.
I know you think everything in life is brief and short, how you think everything will eventually come to an end.
But let me tell you something: everything does have a start and an ending, and we already started this. You just gonna leave it halfway because you are scared of the ending? You are going to ignore all your feelings and leave it behind something that could be wonderful, just because you are scared?
You have this beautiful, smart and loving person that wants to be with you, and you just simply gonna say no?
She sang once again, the same old song
For she’s tired
Of the memories of her soul
Again and again
Over and over
She falls asleep to the melody
And wakes up wanting more
You didn’t say the things
I wanted you to say
But also didn’t say the things
I didn’t wanna hear it
Were you being kind?
or were you hiding?
Will I ever have the answer to any of my questions?
Do you think
If I ask the moon
She tells me
How many times
I have crossed your mind?
(but I am scared of the answer.)
Him: there’s something else I can tidy up?
Her: my heart?
I must have
Read it all the
Because everytime I look around
anywhere to be found
So I try again
And nothing makes any
Because your silent promise
Never really flew away
Nothing makes sense,
Because you were always my