Broken hearted

Love is just a word, unless someone gives it a meaning. She never gave the meaning, on the contrary, she was the meaning. There was something special about her face, it was worth to waste a fucking life looking at her face. At first it was dull, maybe pale, there was a taste, kind of raspberry vodka, the more you look at her, the more you love her. It was like beer, need to develop the taste. Once you start playing the piano, you even love the black keys. The first thing I saw was her smile, a small laugh. The cozy bed cuddling laugh was something to like her for. I knew, "this is gonna hurt like motherfucker". As a person/writer I am a sucker for happy endings. But for anything to end, it should have a start. This thing never started, everything gathered up within, it was an impulse, and I knew I was gonna explode if not loved or heartbroken. You either end up on her lips, or tasting your own tears. I never cried, and I let her go. As I said I love happy endings, I do believe in miracles, but was it gonna happen? And if it hasn't happened, is it the ending?