Cling on

Honestly, I always thought you'd be the one to hold on.

But don't get me wrong darling, I also knew if you ever went far, so much as a step, from me; I'd cling on.

Tell me; find me the answer to this, please. What's hurting, that you moved on or that you moved on before me?

Shallow. And mellow. A bad combination.

And every time I tell myself, you're not the one anyway, I find myself questioned with " what if you are? "

My tales and my notions aren't very peculiar, love.

My scars and my hurt aren't the sole misery.

My heart not the only one pounding with emptiness and my hands not the only one's completely empty of completeness.

But it hurts nevertheless.

And it aches, yet.

In the end, all logic and all math put to work can't still tell me, why not falling in love with you is hurting me so much?