"Have a safe trip" now
"Don't die" Before every trip
"Don't die" Before every trip
"Let me know when you get home alive" after every late night sex, when we could not yet bring ourselves to share a bed for an entire night.
"- Maybe you're the killer trying to convince me you've not killed her
- Ask me sth only Naa knows
"- Maybe you're the killer trying to convince me you've not killed her
- Ask me sth only Naa knows
- What should the Bible have said to make peace an easier concept to grasp?
- Your shite is my shite..."
When your favorite books and comedy shows and your laughter were the only things we shared.
When your favorite books and comedy shows and your laughter were the only things we shared.
"Don't get killed" followed by your apologetic explanation that you've grown up in a place where your mom was afraid you'd get kidnapped every time you left the house in the dark. I told you my mom was afraid I'd get raped every time I left the house in the dark back in the city I call home.
"Don't get killed, or raped" And we were not lonely lost sailors in the ocean anymore. But lonely lost sailors on the same boat. Still in the ocean though.
"Don't die, don't disappear" when I was getting on a plane, not sure you'll be there when I come back.
"Are you still alive?" When you were sick and didn't need company. And I was sick of not allowing myself to want to take care of you, walking back home
to give you space.
Give you time.
Give you anything but love.
Through the wound forest of my wiped out heart and the salty ocean of your shattered "personal space",
Through the wound forest of my wiped out heart and the salty ocean of your shattered "personal space",
"Don't die" was the closest we could get to "I like you"
"I still miss you" a text you wake up to, 3 days after our epic sex after my 3 weeks long trip.
My heart, a deserted airport at midnight. The only sound, the cold announcement that repeats every ten minutes:
"For safety reasons, Please do not leave your baggage unattended"
Until you reply.
"It's very early in the morning" and my fingers go numb.
I take my unattended baggage, I leave the airport.
It feels lonely to exit, with all the baggage, through the entrance of the departure terminal.
You. Of all the people, you should've known.
sometimes,
"I still miss you"
is the closest one can get
to "I love you"
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