What a wicked world! We tend to give it as much trust as we would give ourselves, offering us hope only to ruin our peace. She once said, "I'm like a plant placed in a dark room. I sway towards the nearest source of light. I'll be loyal to it as long as I get the energy to keep my breath alive." I have been, too—never swayed... no regrets whatsoever.
Is it the universe? Is it what curates plans for you, your life, your love? Can it see past my skin? Can it see my soul for a change? Sometimes, I wish things didn't go according to the plans, even my own. Hear me out, Mr. Universe, for I wish to share my story with you.
The silly nuances of her face, the way she expresses herself, her smile, her tears—when I think of them, they used to be nothing more than passing moments. But now, when she's far from being seen or heard, every little thing I think of hurts like a million thorns piercing my body all at once.
I'm not ashamed to say that I cry. Who doesn't? Everyone does, right? But what matters most is the reason behind it and how profound that reason is. Perhaps it transcends the notion of being genuine. I couldn't care less. When you cry, if you truly feel it instead of just letting the tears flow, you'll know there's more to it.
At times, I've even felt like I've taken her for granted. Maybe I thought she would be by my side forever and more. I truly loved her; she was my universe—not the one giving out foolish plans. Nevertheless, I just wish her hopes and dreams come true, for she deserves all the happiness in the world.
Nb: I often start with one idea and end up somewhere entirely different. The flow of my writing shifts from my imagination to my sweet and sour memories. I hope it makes sense to you, as it does to me. Thank you for taking the time to read!
Is it the universe? Is it what curates plans for you, your life, your love? Can it see past my skin? Can it see my soul for a change? Sometimes, I wish things didn't go according to the plans, even my own. Hear me out, Mr. Universe, for I wish to share my story with you.
The silly nuances of her face, the way she expresses herself, her smile, her tears—when I think of them, they used to be nothing more than passing moments. But now, when she's far from being seen or heard, every little thing I think of hurts like a million thorns piercing my body all at once.
I'm not ashamed to say that I cry. Who doesn't? Everyone does, right? But what matters most is the reason behind it and how profound that reason is. Perhaps it transcends the notion of being genuine. I couldn't care less. When you cry, if you truly feel it instead of just letting the tears flow, you'll know there's more to it.
At times, I've even felt like I've taken her for granted. Maybe I thought she would be by my side forever and more. I truly loved her; she was my universe—not the one giving out foolish plans. Nevertheless, I just wish her hopes and dreams come true, for she deserves all the happiness in the world.
Nb: I often start with one idea and end up somewhere entirely different. The flow of my writing shifts from my imagination to my sweet and sour memories. I hope it makes sense to you, as it does to me. Thank you for taking the time to read!
I really appreciate your encouragement. 
