Everything you do, you pay for. So if you're going to kiss me, you'd best be prepared to bleed.

Does that mean in anything that you do, you're gonna get hurt?

The problem is you think poetry is about words. But the greatest poets I ever met, never wrote a single word.

They paint memories in your life.

You keep telling me to be glad for what we had while we had it. That the brightest flame burns quickest.

Which means you saw us as a candle. And I saw us as the sun.

The brighter the flame is, the faster it burns out. Because there's so much a candle can last and we all know beautiful moments don't last and yet the most beautiful moment of a flame is when it burns at it's brightest. And that's when it's vulnerable to the end.

Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.

You think she's insane. Until, one day, you notice that she's taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.

Because you look. But you do not see.

And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she's some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.

Because you eat. But you do not taste.

It's been a while since their last album but he assures you, he's doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.

Because you sniff. But you do not smell.

And they say "Just OK" when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they're hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads "I wish you'd give me some privacy."

Because you listen. But you do not hear.

And they've got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.

Because you touch. But you do not feel.

And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.

Because you live. But very few, love.

Because you see but you don't realise.

I'm really thankful for the friends I have. They just sat beside me despite me saying, you all can go if you all want to. Despite me blabbering about Himalayan tea frappe when I'm actually thinking about something else and yet they still sat there and listen. I actually like Himalayan tea frappe even though it isn't that phlegm inducing after all. I like the sweet aftertaste of the tea even though you don't seem to taste it in the first place. And I guess that's what makes it feel special. Because it's this aftertaste you enjoy and not the drink itself. But after a while, the ice starts to melt and it starts to dilute. I'm guessing love sometimes can just be like htf(in place of dcf). Because when you think back, you can remember the sweet aftertaste and not the process of drinking itself. Of course, without an conscientious effort to continuously thicken it, it'll get diluted over time.

Everything is a part of something bigger. Like I am a part of you and your memories. Like you are a part of me.

The most
important part.

And that's when things that matter to you really hurt you, knowingly, unknowingly, within your control, out of your control. Because the thing/person is actually part of you, part of your memories, without yourself knowing.