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I want to be the book you wake up for, the book you fall asleep with.
I then wrote another long road of words, to reach you. But you ran away again, to another page.
Take your time, give mine back.
Like a story written in an old diary, you are. I open it to meet you, read to talk and close to miss you again.
Words are all in your absence. In your presence, I am speechless.
I am too old to be someone else's. I am still yours, at least in your absence, at least in my wait.
We once shared our secrets so badly that we now look somewhere else instead of sharing a smile while crossing each other on a random street.
So many broken hearts, fixing each other's.
They call me sad, whenever I smile in your absence.
Years have gone along and I still stand before you like the sad leftovers of a storm.
Do not come back to sympathize my wound while I try to heal. It may bleed again.
It became easier to leave, after feeling left out.
I'll miss you, until my pride permits.
Sweetheart! Do not talk to strangers. One of them may be better than me.
You pretend to not know me, I do the same, as if it is the best promise we made in our life.
Do not console me for the absence I will have, after you leave. I know you will be nowhere close, when I will complain to it.
Memories give me a you. In return, I pay a me.
Whenever you get busy with others after telling me to wait, I wait for the time that could remind you that I am still waiting.
Be there to be mine when they ask who I am for you.
From the ink to a word, I try to fail at revealing you.