And so I decided to waste it on you.
Knowing that such waste are not of a face in time.
Faceless it seems,
I know that if I open that mask, regret or not.
Sad or happy.
I know that a time will well spent. Listening to your words, blabbering, uttering nonsense, watching your eyes, as it shut with desperation on wanting a good life.
As I give you this rose,
I will lay my head on my bed,
And felt missing you is such a painful sight, and a hideous feeling to skeptics.
I won.
Of beating myself to a mile, where all the men had gave up, and cursed the very love,
they naively believe in the beginning of their journey.
Because I will not.
My pain.
Is a beautiful documentation of your very existence.
