Instead of beating it, you’re always sitting there on top the roof of the tallest building throwing our paper planes with our favorite poems. Your favorite things inside of one smile, how lips can change for each emotion.
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I should have treated you better turns into I won’t treat the next one like that. I shouldn’t write anymore love poems, I don’t know what it feels like anymore– yet I still write. they always ask how I’m able to write such words?
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These days I’m less myself and more of someone else. The more I think I got it figured out, the more I realize I don’t have shit figured out. It’s not poetry, it’s just an honest love letter. It’s not love, it’s just another way to not hate yourself.
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I didn’t have depression before I met you, but after you it all makes sense. The story doesn’t end with you, it ends with me. The story has more than one chapter, you’re just a page I need to rip out.
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It’s okay to remember, it’s not okay to long for emotions that are no longer there, maybe one day I’ll forget about you, maybe one day I’ll be over you. It ends someday, ya know? I’m just waiting for things to pass and for things to last.
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I’m sorry that I can’t give the world to you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that we’re just friends. I’m sorry that it didn’t work. I’m sorry that I said those words to you. I’m sorry that I never wrote anything for you.
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I’m sorry about not visiting anymore– you’re getting way attached and I can’t break your heart like that. I’m sorry that you’re waiting for me, it’ll all make sense some day. I’m sorry that you cried for nothing. I’m sorry, I’m not that person.
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I’m just a simple poet with simple words, the story thus far is not pretty, but it will end beautifully.
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End of conversation
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