Love
It is such a good feeling! Butterflies in your stomach, Heart jumping from your chest, Can't stop thinking about it! With it, you feel happy. With it, you feel complete. With it, you feel the excitement. With it, you're absent-minded. Lifes empty without it. Missing it every minute, Lifes not worthy without it, That's what it feels Being apart from it. Meeting it: palms sweaty. Talking to it: stuttering. Holding it, legs shaky. Loving it, on drugs. Living with it, heaven. Love... Such a beautiful word. A lot of people feel it But not everyone really feels the True love... Such a complex word. Everyone understands it But little people live it. Always tryna find The One. Tough path to it. Fighting, struggling through. At the end fighting it, Or life long searching for it. One will love the true you, Support you all the way, Being there for you, Not tryna change you, You're just perfect as you are, He/She will love you as you are.
2019-05-06 19:26:49
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Question 1?/Вопрос 1?
The girl that questions everything,is a girl that needs many answers.She wanders the earth trying to find the person that can answer her many queries.Everthing she writes has a hidden question that makes her heart ache and her head hurt.She spends days writing sad story's that she forgets her sad life.Shes in a painful story that never ends,she's in a story that writes itself.The pages in the book were filled ever so easy,because her heart wrote it for her.She spent her life being afraid,that's what made it so boring.Finding her passion was easy,but fulfilling it was the hardest part of all.Her writing may be boring and sad,but it's what keeps her sane. "She had all the questions in the word,and he had all the answers." Lillian xx
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"Письмо ушедших дней"
Привет , мой милый друг Забыл ли ты, как долго не писала , Прости ,но я хотела отпустить Всю слабостью ,что в себе искала . И может ты проник Моим письмом до дрожи Забыл ли мой дневник , Увиденный стихами одинокой ночи ... Об памяти прошедших дней , Ты не увидишь ни души порока Лишь слабый шепот чувств Уложенных строками тонко . Немой вопрос в глазах Оставлю с времям на последок Легонько холодом касаний уходя , Чтоб не запомнил запах пепла.
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