Random
My sadness has a name. No, not yours, that would be romanticising it. I could love you like how I only can, and yet, my hurt is mine own. We ache for different reasons. Don't you think if it were so easy to put to words, I'd have already made a poem out of it. I lack the proper diction, my words are sincere, and yet wasteful. How many more times do I tell you about my suffering until you stop asking why. My questions beget more questions. You don't have any answers, darling, and nor do I ask them of you. The inevitability of the unknown is bound to be scary. Repeating how we love each other however many times needn't always solve it. But it helps, that it does. The train is boarded, we are both waiting for each other on the end of it. We hope it stops when we meet, we hope we meet when it stops. Two hopeful cynics, the irony not completely lost on us. I wish vacations could last a little longer, but alas, I don't think I'd love them very much if they did. I wi...