Enough of crying.
Enough of waiting.
I’m enough of wishing that your arms are around me.
I’m enough of starring at your window,
expecting you’ll show up.
I’m enough of being afraid of everything,
of being so wonerable since I’ve been in love with you.
I’m enough of acting like everything is alright,
when deep inside I’m slowly falling apart on thousand little pieces.
I’m enough people saying to me : ?‚»He’s not for you.?‚«
Because you are.
You just don’t know that.
I’m enough of being so strange.
I’m enough of these black feelings ghattering in my soul,
they frighten me.
And most of all.
That loving you may destroy me.
Because I never. Ever. Ever. Loved someone,
the way I love you.