*I decided to move forward, but I kept looking back.
Because...
you were there...
back there
looking the other way
following another path
always alone,
or maybe surrounded by false loves.
You were always too proud
too proud to love.
Because love will kill you, won’t it?
But your pride will be the cause
of my death and yours.
Whoever doesn’t love is already dead, my dear.
I hate tragic endings
but they are part of romance novels.
Never would Romeo and Juliet live happily ever after.
Never would you and I
have a happy ending.
But don’t be sad,
we are Romeo and Juliet,
and that’s very romantic,
enough to be tragic.
The day you left,
along with your departure, you took my oxygen.
I haven’t breathed since then.
I guess it doesn’t hurt much,
empty lungs
for an empty chest.
I deprived myself of love and feelings.
No, not feeling is
depriving oneself of living.
Because if you don’t feel,
you’re already dead.
As much as it hurts,
I know I’m alive,
because I’m bleeding.
Since your sharp glances
looked at me,
cutting me.
I’m bleeding.
I’m agonizing.
I’m... living.*