and hanging around those who can break me. whenever i speak of them, it tears me into millions of tiny pieces.

yet I hold on, cause they mean much more than they would allow. more than what a mere heart could allow.

such a typical soul, handing one’s heart over in a silver platter and believing that you’d hold it tight and keep it warm.

most of the times i wonder where does the strength to carry on comes, through the invisible sheets of truth, lies and passing fantasies.

it was everything, and more.
and it hurts like everything and more.