"It was painful, and challenging, and you know, FUCK YOU still, but it’s not like I'm broken!”
Fizzarolli character aesthetic.
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“I am gonna miss you” I didn't reply. I don’t reply to these things. It's too melancolic for someone like me. Miss isn’t even a word in my profession of a lover. It’s something too futile to hear. I am gonna miss you. Maybe what I am gonna feel is something entirely in a different language. As if the water waves will miss the shore if it wasn’t there, as if the ocean will flow beyond a limit, flooding the entire world. As if the moon was born in the daylight, in a desperate wish to meet the sun. as if the winter never subsides for the spring to be born. As if the sunflowers will wither in the storm.
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“What is love?”
Often, I get asked this question. I always peculiarly depicted love as your features. When someone asked me about the proportions I told them, it's the vast expanse of your hazel eyes, its the moles scattered around your face, i can vividly stare at them if i close my eyes for a while, or how the ruffled tassels of hairs fall from your forehead as you look up, or how the eye lashes curve upside, or how the cheekbones heaves up as they almost touch your water lines of the pair of eyes, or how the apples of your cheeks grow quiet massive as those teeth break out into a crippling grin. I could close my eyes and still see them. Or maybe the thin lips, straighter and curved up like a cupid, or how the vastness of the ocean makes me feel you. I used to describe love as you. But then again, in a sense, it's true, my love is you, my visual of love is you.
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