Its 12 o'clock in the early morning the thought of you crosses my mind like a comet, a split of a second a fragment of a memory its you, thats what you are when I think of you. A memory a lapses in time of memories to rewind.
Confused by the memories of others, you seem always blurry behind, behind every wall, every closed door, every failed relationship. Like my back up bone, you are always behind and it makes me wonder if its me who is blind?
You once said so clearly we can only be friends if either you never loved at all or you never stop loving. I go back in time and I get lost in that moment, it makes me wonder if Im also holding on, when I am trying to move on. You are my past and present and is so difficult to picture a future.
The past blinds as memories disguise.
I never thought love was real and now I think life is not real without it.
Sometimes is just about knowingly knowing the ending; as every beginning and middle, there is always an end.
Don't call it cynicism I am just a realist; realism keeps me away from love skepticism, as I believe faith in love will never be hopeless in vain.