Sometimes I write Because I don’t know what I’m feeling deep inside, or because I feel too many different feelings at the same time. And if I read it then it may make sense and will help me understand, what’s going on in my heart and head.
She plucked a feather from her magnificent wings and dipped it in ink. She wrote poems bled from her scars guided straight from the depths of her heart.
I knew it was real love the moment I could bare myself to you naked (without taking my clothes off) and I could show you all my scars (the ones that are invisible to the naked eye) and you loved me even more.
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