torn
Physically, emotionally, mentally alone . . . How quickly I had turned you into my everything and now, here I am . . . with nothing.
Like Adam and Eve; tragedy was their destiny . . .
Was this our destiny? To watch something we've built up over the years and then, just watch it all crumble down like a pile of Lego pieces we got tired of playing with? To me, our story never ended—it had barely began, but our book was cut short, skipping through the middle pages of the story, going directly towards the end. I never asked you why you had wanted the things you did. Fear swallowed me whole as the thoughts consumes me once more. I feel light-headed, losing balance with myself.
I lay across the bed of papers, your scent growing even more and I inhale, slipping out a mellow cry. It was like I was laying on a bed of needles and no matter what move I did, I would end up getting pricked. Is that how love is? No matter which way you go, you'll always end up on your ass in the end, one way or another?
Love is a bee disguised as a butterfly. It stings you, but you still can't resist wanting to hold it in your hands. That goddamn bee could sting me a thousand times and you will always find me chasing after it like a mindless child because that is what love does . . . it blinds you away from reality for just a little while and even though it may hurt us, we still go after it. Why? Well, I can't really answer that, but what I can say is love is a mystery . . . it's almost as complicated as falling. You never know it's happening until it's all done and you're lying across the floor, hurt and helpless, wondering what's going on.
Like Adam and Eve; tragedy was their destiny . . .
Was this our destiny? To watch something we've built up over the years and then, just watch it all crumble down like a pile of Lego pieces we got tired of playing with? To me, our story never ended—it had barely began, but our book was cut short, skipping through the middle pages of the story, going directly towards the end. I never asked you why you had wanted the things you did. Fear swallowed me whole as the thoughts consumes me once more. I feel light-headed, losing balance with myself.
I lay across the bed of papers, your scent growing even more and I inhale, slipping out a mellow cry. It was like I was laying on a bed of needles and no matter what move I did, I would end up getting pricked. Is that how love is? No matter which way you go, you'll always end up on your ass in the end, one way or another?
Love is a bee disguised as a butterfly. It stings you, but you still can't resist wanting to hold it in your hands. That goddamn bee could sting me a thousand times and you will always find me chasing after it like a mindless child because that is what love does . . . it blinds you away from reality for just a little while and even though it may hurt us, we still go after it. Why? Well, I can't really answer that, but what I can say is love is a mystery . . . it's almost as complicated as falling. You never know it's happening until it's all done and you're lying across the floor, hurt and helpless, wondering what's going on.