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Wondy 1d
i was thinking of you
of us
do you miss me, like i miss you?
do you need me, like i need you right now?
i know i left
but every person who feels like this should leave too.

you made me feel unseen, even when your eyes met mine.
you made me feel stupid, even when you encouraged me.
you made me feel dry, even when we talked all the time.

am i imagining things?
there was something wrong,
i know there was.
but you didn’t care if there was a misunderstanding between us.
you continued to talk like nothing happened,
like there isn’t a big wall
between us—between me and you.

i tried to break it,
the wall.
i really did.
but if i break one brick—only one—
you will put it back again.
you will build it again.
and again.

you made me feel unseen, stupid, and dry.
even if i imagined this.
even if i misunderstood.
even if...
i don’t care anymore.

because this feeling will come
again and again.
and i choose myself.
i choose peace.
i choose me.

i don’t need you anymore.
i don’t want to feel unlovable by you
again.

and again—
my coffee has gone cold again,
because i thought of you,
of us.
Nicholas Mar 2015
And the heart messed up with precious moments
with no reason to get hurt itself,
Ecstasy brought it the pleasure of fake components
Which help it residing to the new-corners of book-shelf

Old, dusty, & rotten pages of books
serve it a real nice pleasant scents of its artistry,
As the time ticked by with looks
It goes emerged into the words of literacy

*No more hurt, No more love
Only the memories of past
seem to be saved to the broken-heart


The heart always gets hurt,
no matter if it treats the love right,
Love makes the heart brutal, faithless, & nerd
which costs it further with much price

So, the heart decides not to get fallen in fake love
again 'n again,
Seasons come every year so the rain... with pain


Love's fake, but the true love ain't, so are we
Love makes the hues of heart desperate so do we
What's lost and whatsoever just found
Love ain't a thing that's meant to be sepulchred “under” the grave of conspired-ground

And, by the end, the heart makes all the old and new books
its noble friends...
which pat on its flesh, & make it running along new-trends
*


Dusk falls down, Night comes down
It slept away, & the morn appears around
And the heart gets spoken;
It says,
“It feels good thinking 'bout new-lit
& forgetting everything even all the pleasure off sin,
Literature becomes the beat; a passion, No more spit
Now I re-start off the life... living along wisdom, I admit."

— The End —