I’ve gone and broken my heart for you. They’ve told me that the first love is the hardest; so far I have found this to be true. But your eyes, they talk so nice.
And you captured me through your stuttered words and empty silences.
Other people’s heads are filled with voices of elegance, grace and poise but mine is filled with thoughts of you. Raw, caustic, viral thoughts of you.
I think the hardest part is when you look at me as though I am the only one that matters, because I know that this can only be untrue with your hands on someone else.
You’ve loved before, not once, but twice.
I wonder what they say about the third love, I bet they didn’t say anything at all.