to be young lovers, wild and free. just to write silly little things with my silly little pen with me and my silly little thoughts. to be kind, and distant yet sweet and clueless. the flowers growing back. our demeanours being second guessed. oh to be honest. the self-loathing men I encounter in this world.
to make mistakes and look back in laughter. the feeling of existence slowing disappearing to somewhere else. somewhere unimaginable. the way I disgustingly sleep in yesterdays makeup and wear it with such a lovely smile. to cry in-front of you with vivid tears of a unknown feeling we all feel. the misunderstanding we all felt just to the fearless. the sea and sand and waves and rocks.
the purely precious things I say wrongly and get repeated back. The bluest of blues for the undertones of our eyes. The late nights where we would talk about anything and everything.
Just to be heard, would feel so liberating. the karaoke machine, the Abba cd, the 80s dance moves we didn't hide. The wishes that the night would last forever and more. the books, the paper, the kisses on handwritten cards.
to help, grow, ask for help. knowing you and understanding me. the pages homework written just for you. the lighter shade of lip liner. the days we spent craving for the destiny we didn't even know we wanted. the happiness of leaving and figuring it out. the way you stopped punishing yourself finally. the last saddening hung eyes, the last sullen cries, the final words of us.
