I'm not made of perfection.
I can be good at things, but I can't be perfect. My standards were always so high and because of this I have already put myself down so many times. Many times I try to make myself feel good, or awesome; or even pro - they die down, buried inside me because of my own standards.
I'm so naive that even my boyfriend agreed that I was weak, though he knew that he himself felt so weak whenever the memories of his mother overwhelms him. Sometimes he wished that his father could see this; but Max had always thought he has to be the man of the house, if not his father; he wants to show his mother that he is responsible enough. He used to lie a lot, but once he met me, he stopped.
Somehow I have a feeling that we're not just teenage lovers.
I believe in him, and he believes in me even though we both know we'll be separated. Somehow, Max; I really think we'll meet again, and fall in love again, with each other; no matter how many times we fall in love with others.
We'll fall together again, that time; with our arms embracing one another.
Post a comment
Use trackback on this entry.
| HOME |