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Nothing Else.

And I can't help it
But to sit here -
All alone -
On my vacant bed
In my room
Which is freezing cold
Rocking back and forth
Rivers raging from my eyes
And think to myself
"Maybe it wasn't meant to be"

And the only thing I can do
Is lie here
Holding onto my pillow
Clutching it desperately
Because it's my only source of comfort.
But secretly -
In the worst way -
I wish it was you.
But there is a sharp contrast present:
The pillow won't leave me
Ever
At least not the way you did.

And all I can do
Is write stupid poems
About how much I miss you
How I still love you
How I am expecting you to come back
And how patiently I am awaiting your return.
Not to mention
How unfair life is
And how much it stinks
How I don't understand why this had to happen
How badly this hurts
And how long it will take me to heal.





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