We separated, spread like dandeloin seeds throungh wind.
Our love, that used to aim on forever had started slowly growing thin.
Midnight conversations with you had turned to noises of the fan,
as tears drop slowly and hurriedly, collecting themselves on my hand.
I heard about writer’s block but this doesn’t seem like it.
You’re in my mind 24/7, right words for poems don’t start to fit.
I start to write from my beat-up heart, instead of using my brain.
The feeling of your guts being twisted and the feeling of going insane.
On the other hand, this is good. People seem to be afraid.
The lies start packing on one another, not noticing the truth started to fade.
I will always write current feelings, no one can tell me other wise.
What makes a poem good is when it’s full of reality, not the lies.
I’ll feel this way about you and you’ll feel different about me,
You were strong enough to let go and I never found it easy.
But life happened, it doesn’t matter why we had parted,
Thank you because at some point, you were exactly what I needed.