Roses are red
Violet are blue
Don’t be scared
I’m here for you
Oh!
Dear emptiness,
Won’t you please go away?
Last time
You broke my heart
The next day
Cursed myself for falling for you
The next week
Cursed you for making me fall for you
The next month
Convinced myself I’m better off without you
And 2010 comes around…
Yet,
Today
I’m still not over you
Question:
What happened in the three days before Jesus resurrected?
A lot of times
We blame life
For being unfair
We blame life
For choosing someone else
To be the best
We blame life
For all the crap
We have to deal with
Ignoring the fact
That we have so much more
Than many others
Ignoring the fact that
Life didn’t actually do anything
Except watch us make decision
It was always us
Who have the last word
The choice we choose
Define who we are today
The choice we did not choose
Will be our source of regret
Those who follows all the rule
Wonders what its like to be reckless
People who are too fucked up
Wonders what if they were more responsible
Which one will I end up being?
“Love is when you shed a tear and still want him; it’s when he ignores you and you still love him; it’s when he loves another girl, but you still smile and say I’m happy for you when all you really do is cry.”
[7:19:42 PM] G : ): there’s nothing called ‘the one’. it can simply be anyone.
![unknownskywalker:
[Photo via NASA]](http://www-pao.ksc.nasa.gov/kscpao/images/large/2010-1674.jpg)
Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.
You think she’s insane. Until, one day, you notice that she’s taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.
Because you look. But you do not see.
And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she’s some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.
Because you eat. But you do not taste.
It’s been a while since their last album but he assures you, he’s doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.
Because you sniff. But you do not smell.
And they say “Just OK” when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they’re hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads “I wish you’d give me some privacy.”
Because you listen. But you do not hear.
And they’ve got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.
Because you touch. But you do not feel.
And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.
Because you live. But very few, love.
via: I wrote this for you (via kari-shma)
