It always comes to this point where I can’t remember
how it felt before.
And there is always this frozen feeling
that I believed in more happiness than I deserved.

And that shall be why it all faded slowly and roughly at once.
From all the grief I’ve learned that which separates
being alone from feeling lonely can be just one person ahead,
those who are wound and band-aid at the same time.

And you better learn how to heal yourself if they peeled off.

Also, that it can seem all shouted out but still be a lot left to talk.
-Perhaps we’ll drink coffee again,
when you are less angry with fate-.

And that your own happiness must not
be trusted in someone else’s hands;
they’ll drop it off every time.
This specially sucks if you are used to make homes out of people.

But still, I believe in gypsy living.
Happiness is just about embracing your own emptyness,
even if it is a he, a time or miles away.
That is how to fill oneself .

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I think I made you up inside my head” .

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