Sometimes I feel like writing
just every single thing
I feel about you, which is a lot,
knowing it might be my last chance to do so.
Knowing, maybe,
I’ll wake up tomorrow,
or even blink,
and then find out you are dead
(or the other way around).
Knowing that the words
I didn’t say today,
may be the ones you were
lacking of hearing tomorrow.
But when I’m just about to do it, I stop.
Because if it’s not my last day on earth (or yours),
and if the words I have to say don’t matter at all to you;
it would all just be in vain,
and I would lose a little bit of love,
a little bit of heart,
and be back to cold again.
