Mirages and ink bottles. I am a pen. This might sound like a metaphorical exaggeration, or an ornamented fact, but it is what I am. Every time I hear the same song that you loved on the radio, it's like a cut on the side of my arm, and the ink just flows out. Every … Continue reading Mirages and ink bottles.
There are some things that bother me every night after 2 AM, after I listen to music with lyrics that do nothing except reminding me that you'll never be mine. It bothers me that I'll never love someone this way ever again. Love changes everyday, and it bothers me that you'll never be my constant. … Continue reading 11:11s.