Just to come back again.

Why do you still carry the love on your shoulders which you once carried in your heart?

Stories and poetry are an escape, yes.

But why escape only to come back again?

There is a depth in your eyes, a certain maturity that comes from damage;

Then why is your heart still juvenile?

Your hands have willingly grown weary by caring too much, you’ve always cared, yes.

Then why do your hands go heavy, every time they try to touch his face?

You long for the uncertain, run away with your hair flying loose;

But you stop.

Because;

Why let them play with the wind, only to tie them back again?

Writing is a curse too sweet for the soul.

For words stay for an eternity, so does love.

It stays with YOU.

You run, every single time, just to come back again.