To the flower that bloomed too early

To the flower that bloomed too early
I wanted to say,
I love you.

To the flower that bloomed too early
I wanted to say,
You were perfect.

To the flower that bloomed too early
I wanted to say,
Winter didn’t know what it was messing with.

To the flower that bloomed too early
I wanted to say,
The garden seems darker without you.

To the flower that bloomed too early
I wanted to say,
I love you

– 7/27/17

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Hope

Good things don’t last very long. That’s the problem. As soon as something good happens you might as well start your timer. Sooner or later it’s bound to go back to sad and depressing. And sometimes I wonder whether the high is worth the crash.

It’s the hope. The hope that builds up when something good happens. It makes you feel a little bit better, and you start to wonder how it would feel to be normal. To not regret breathing. To not regret existence. And that maybe you could possibly be on the road to it.

But then hopes just a tease. The most deadliest of poisons to consume your mind. It enters you and eats you out from the inside. Bruises you and leaves you cold. But you’re stupid, you love it like you love your cheating boyfriend. In the end you know you’ll be devastated, but still. That ‘still’ that’s what hope is. It’s a monster. Raging rampage in you insides. It’s the most purists of devils.