I wish you’d ask me about my favorite color, my childhood and the way I see life.
I wish you’d care enough to ask how my day was whenever you see me.
I wish you’d want to know more about who I truly am.
You already know how my kisses taste and the way my skin rubs against yours.
For you this might be enough, but, for me, it’s just killing me slowly, because the deepness of how I feel isn’t reciprocated.
Nevertheless, I try to bring the best in you everytime I’m around.
I don’t want you to suffer like the way you did in the past, so I accept the love I don’t think I deserve in order to heal you, even though I’m the one who’s not healing.