brynwyn17
I'm all strung-out on wishing,
eyes bloodshot from the lack of rest
because my heart doesn't stop beating and my mind doesn't stop racing
even though I've told myself to get over you.
Another love unrequited, bitter, over.
Half empty.
A new start, a fresh beginning, believing again that you are beautiful.
Half full.
Every now and then I put a vase of flowers in my room. For some reason, it makes me feel as if I've gone back in time to another era. I could be a girl putting hand-picked flowers in a vintage vase in her room in 1930. I usually keep the flowers there after they have wilted and died, reluctant to throw them away. But you have to get rid of the dead flowers to make room for new, fresh ones.