When is it the
right time to call it quit? Tell me if it’s before the first blow or right
after the last fight? Most times we let situation invade us, letting our
consciousness to bleed from things left in a reserve called memories. Memories
of when he was Mr. Right, moments when his kisses
stir up the butterflies and his presence melted every forming snow. Days when she was Ms Perfect and not even her makeup bore any trace of imperfection.
stir up the butterflies and his presence melted every forming snow. Days when she was Ms Perfect and not even her makeup bore any trace of imperfection.
That god old
days when he quaked your soul and made you fall on both feet, as gravity
failed to hold her down letting her fall on both feet and even right after
fallen, nothing seemed to matter except for when he speaks. As word made a
transition from strength to weakness and every sound he utters brought home nothing but pain, a tearful heart, a soul left for sorrow. Gone she said,
gone! She would cry, with a gun to her head, she let the tears form words,
words like I hate you. How on earth did she ever accept such fate, yesterday
was just as beautiful as the pain she now felt, yesterday gave birth to the
hurt buried deep inside her. Cry me a river; let the tears feel her eyes like a
believer on a Sunday morning listening to a thought provoking sermon as each word would pierce through
her broken soul. Today she will act a fool; today she would let another second
decide her fate.. to be cont...
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