romanticism is hardcore poetry

Her heart was the size of my palm. She had tired eyes staring too far to see what was close.One look could turn million faces to seperate directions,one heart beating would get lonely without another one. Weird heavy feeling under my chest that night, your trembling voice made it hard to breath.The bed was cold the next morning, yesterday had turned into a blurry glance.
I remembered a dream, me looking for a steady hand to finally rip my heart out.

picture from here.

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