We are both a hypocrite

Maybe sometimes it’s good for not putting what I feel into words, when putting it into words makes me remember how was the scent of morning dew when I drove with you, how the sun shining timidly and the shine keep hazy when I tickled your stomach, how I laughed with you when both of us saw duck across the road and you said

“Why don’t the idiom of butterflies in stomach replaced by ducks in your stomach? I love duck.”

“Why don’t the idiom of the ugly duckling replaced by my name? I mean the ugly duckling who never grow up,” I replied

You pulled my head onto your chest, messed my hair up with your left hand.

“Be you tiful”

As you kissed my forehead and I always feel better after that

Maybe sometimes it’s good for not putting what I feel into words, when putting it into words makes me remember how that shoegaze song got you drifted and made you extremely expressive, how that Tuesday afternoon when I called you to drive anywhere after my parents fought, how trembling your voice when you found out that I committed suicide.

“Why do you love me? Why do you love someone broken? Why do you care about my morning paralyzed when everyone calls me lazy girl? Why do you try to fit in when I talked about depression? ” I always feel like the girl who isn’t worth fighting for.

Because I am as broken as you,” you hugged me, I tried to find the nooks and crannies in your eyes. I sunk into your eyes, your lovely yet broken eyes.

We strengthened each other. I know I can heal you and you can heal me too.


If only you had said that last sentence, you would not have gone.
I am sorry that I wasn’t realize that you suffered. I was fuck up. I am fuck up.
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