Now is your 11:59.
I have loved someone new but somehow there's those songs I burnt for you that felt wrong to be dismissed. Smoke signals of infatuation in October when all my friends are to be called witches. The stars aligned. Of Libra. My 11:11 wishes, the one I cried for when the storm showed up to this window, who am I to tell this heart stop?
The grey puffs outlines residue of what was once. My friends all now lives in long phone calls and being able to make me feel loved through thin line, is the only love I'd want to make it stay. I don't feel sorry for my growth, so you shouldn't either. In the different ways we're seeing this world, I know I still miss your face when I'm up with cold sweat in the dark a.m.. Only because I know you will be missed. I still love you in my dreams at night.
I will miss loving someone who's in reach and as lovely as you. I am truly sad that "was" could never be now but I will never be in denial about such.
Perhaps I'm keeping my promises on being a better friend in another life. Cheers to doubtful promises anyways.
