“They call my love immature, naive and foolish, as if, wisdom made a better lover out of them.”

I’m still figuring out, how to talk about how I feel- which is a lot.

Those that are drunk in love, shall forever talk to the moon.

Something in me is constantly at unrest.

You are like a wrecked ship in the depths of the ocean, collapsed and eroded but still, full of pearl oysters.

If not love, then we have to survive it.

I am not what I write but I want to be.

It’s not sad/ that you choose/ to keep yourself in/ its a pity/ that even when you could/ you never decided/ to walk out.

You out of all, have a hand to hold.

Too many of us have grown up just too early.

I don’t want everything to be a destination, where I have to grind and reach, O! how I long for some good to come in my way and let me pick it up.

All this sadness longs to be touched.

I want to know the 2 am you because my love we all are different when we are at war under the sun.

A love that stays will always remain secondary to the one that left, but isn’t it a shame to worship that which left in place off that which stayed.

But the act of holding on speaks to me so much more about a human heart than the courage of letting go ever could.

These poets and their metaphors lied to me/ you never felt like a mountain I wished to climb/ or a stream I would let myself float in/ or a scent I was dying to bottle in/ these poets lie when they talk of love.

Growing flowers on your tongue/ won’t make those lies/ any sweet/ saying that you still/ love me/ won’t make this/ broken trust/ change how it feels.