Kiss, 1897 - Edvard Munch
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the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.
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and now im afraid.
I loved you…
I loved you since we first met. And I couldn’t stop loving you. Every second, I loved you even more.
We talk, and I loved you. We fall asleep next to each other, and I loved you. You touch me, and I loved you. Never understood why or how, but I loved you.
I got to know you deeply, what you think of this world and how it never stops spinning around the sun, your fears and devotions. Sometimes being your teacher, sometimes being your student. I was losing my mind every time you said my name because I was in fucking love with you.
But you were incredible, magical and also the most scared guy on earth. Never said to me if you cared about me as I cared about you. Never got enough courage to say what your real feelings for me. Say to everybody how good I was to you (but not to me). Speak to everybody about me (but you never showed that to me). Got angry with me for letting other girls pass by (but never let me go). Drive me insane with your confusing actions until the point where nothing had sense. And I really loved you.
I get to the conclusion that you didn’t know what you were so scared of having something real for the first time, that was easier to fool me than risk all for us.
So, the moment when you pull me closer and kissed me for the last time, I realized that I loved you. Yes, lovED, because now I can’t feel nothing. And now I’m as afraid of being loved as you were afraid of being loved by me.
+ (Twitter→ @H0R4Naf / Wattpad→ downwiththisship2202) +
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one last souvenir from my trip to your shores
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"¿Cómo nos perdonamos a nosotros mismos por todas las cosas que no llegamos a ser?"
- Doc Luben.
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