"I remember the little things, like she would cry when reading beautiful poetry. She liked her coffee with milk and no sugar and would get furious at me when I put sugar in her coffee. Her favourite piece of clothing was the big white t-shirt that her dad her given her. When it would rain, she would put on Coldplay and sit in her bed and look out her window. I remember how frustrated she would get, when she couldn’t write what she wanted to write. “Poetry”, she said, “I want to make people feel things they didn’t even know they could feel with my writing”. She wanted to write poetry. But she was poetry. I think that was what ruined her in the end - not realising she was what she wanted to make others realise they were. Not the endless drinking or the carton of Marlboro she would have smoked away by the end of the week. Isn’t that scary? That sometimes it’s the things inside of you already that kill you, not the things you put inside of you. I remember her brown eyes, her smile that could light up the entire fucking universe. “You know, the sun could die and you just had to smile, then the Earth would be okay” I used to say to her. She’d laugh and call me a dork. I think she thought I was joking. I was not. I remember the little things about her, and I’d like to hold on to those. Thinking of her as a whole person that I loved with all of my stupid beating heart I am not ready for yet. Seeing as how things are now, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for it. She was poetry and my sun and my life and now she is gone and she just left me back here in this stupid town that we promised each other we would get away from. She got away I suppose. She just forgot to bring me with her." by poemsfeeling

"I remember the little things, like she would cry when reading beautiful poetry. She liked her coffee with milk and no sugar and would get furious at me when I put sugar in her coffee. Her favourite piece of clothing was the big white t-shirt that her dad her given her. When it would rain, she would put on Coldplay and sit in her bed and look out her window. I remember how frustrated she would get, when she couldn’t write what she wanted to write. “Poetry”, she said, “I want to make people feel things they didn’t even know they could feel with my writing”. She wanted to write poetry. But she was poetry. I think that was what ruined her in the end - not realising she was what she wanted to make others realise they were. Not the endless drinking or the carton of Marlboro she would have smoked away by the end of the week. Isn’t that scary? That sometimes it’s the things inside of you already that kill you, not the things you put inside of you. I remember her brown eyes, her smile that could light up the entire fucking universe. “You know, the sun could die and you just had to smile, then the Earth would be okay” I used to say to her. She’d laugh and call me a dork. I think she thought I was joking. I was not. I remember the little things about her, and I’d like to hold on to those. Thinking of her as a whole person that I loved with all of my stupid beating heart I am not ready for yet. Seeing as how things are now, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for it. She was poetry and my sun and my life and now she is gone and she just left me back here in this stupid town that we promised each other we would get away from. She got away I suppose. She just forgot to bring me with her." by poemsfeeling via Instagram http://ift.tt/1NSGxeu at September 24, 2015 at 07:11PM • Details about Mehedi Menafa http://ift.tt/1G78OqZ • Trend News Online : http://ift.tt/1HXcMbL September 24, 2015 at 07:11PM