Of poets and lost lovers
The history books didn't mention us once,
The history books didn't mention us twice.
They forgot our names and crossed out our lines.
Forgotten words, cries and tears, we never meant anything to them,
Rotting away in unmarked graves, we are just unnamed men.
They wrote that one day, some will remember us even in another time.
But alas love, no worth was found in our lives.
For we were not kings or emperors,
Just poets and lost lovers.
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She’s the light of my life, I will give my all for her. But it seems that my all is my own heartbreak in exchange for her comfort. I would not change that.
It’s uncomfortable. When she gets too close, my guilt is overwhelming. She doesn’t know the way I feel, she wouldn’t do this if she knew.
But I let it happen, because her affection and love, however different from my own, is still the thing that keeps me going.
And I hold the hope that one day that the stars will align, and her affection will match with mine.
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Just popping in to say I LOVE the Sappho piece! It makes me happy inside and you are very talented. That’s all!
Thanks a lot, anon. I've literally written and erased this response like five times but this picture is the exact description of me in this moment.
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