We were both poets living under the same roof, intoxicated by lust and cigarettes. I was losing all passion for life while he seemed to be giving up on us. I hated the way he looked at me with those sad, gleaming eyes and i missed his genuine smile and those ‘’I love you’s’’, not the ‘’love you’’ before he left the house every morning. I fell in love and moved halfway across the world to be with him. It felt so wrong but so right. Each word spoken from either of us just seemed meaningless at this point, a bit like the looks we exchanged from time to time. I wanted nothing more than to love and be loved by him. I didn’t want to give up, and I didn’t want to fight so I felt forced to put up with the silence that poisoned our souls. I didn’t know how to make him happy and it worried me. There’s so much to talk about but I won’t let myself express my thoughts openly for fear of rejection. He needed mental stimulation and I couldn’t give that to him.
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