When we met in the college, I always found you to be different for I knew that you lied somewhere between being an introvert and an extrovert.
My friends would often talk about you and your words but honestly I found them to be generic. I knew about your words, your emotions since the beginning. I could actually step into your shoes and tell you that you wrote this piece for a certain person. I knew your intentions when you wrote that piece for my friend. It wasn’t until I saw you struggling with the words when you sat on the steps, I wish i could have helped you but then i wanted you to look at me and follow my lead to make me your favorite muse.
The moment our souls were tied together I knew thst soon my blood will be poisioned by your fucking words and I won’t be able to live on my own. You are worse than nicotine, Darling. I was addicted to your words and I kept on waiting till 3 in the morning for I knew it would be for me. I accepted your flaws and we both believed that we needed each other to survive together.
It wasn’t until last month that we admitted how much we feel emotionally attached to each other. I forgot to mention that you figured out my darkness that noe exists in your words.
You had my pieces, my weaknesses in your palms. The wsy you would write, the way I would be for you. Your mistress, your slave of love.
For all this while, I knew that you would be the one who would wake me in the morning and tell me that i am a complete mess.
Honest, raw and emotional. You were everything my words never had it together.
They lacked depth. But we didn’t. The reason why our pieces would fit was we knew that silence was supposed to be cherished.