I don't even know what to call us anymore. What do you even really think of me? Do you actually love me? Or are you living a double life? Your words have become lies. The conclusion? I'm in love with my enemy.

I guess I can thank you for making me into an emotionally, isolated, self-indulged heart- spiller, cry baby...some people call them poets;)

So maybe I'm a masochist but either way I know no matter what, what we have will never be found elsewhere.

I can't help but wonder.. was I ever really in love with you? Or was I in love with the pain? The exquisite pain of wanting someone so unattainable.

And all I did was love you. I may have sucked at it at times, but I always loved you.

We have to experience sadness in order to enjoy happiness

"Strength shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over."

I let myself,
let you,
tear me up inside,
rip my heart out,
cry all night,
play me,
take you back,
again.
put me last,
put you first,
wait on you,
be there for you,
LOVE YOU...
and what am I to you?
I find myself [still] guessing.

"I'll never forget the things you {|[never]|} said."

"I dont miss you as much as I miss the feeling that I got around you."