Written by another man.

The roses inside me died from thirst, from the heat born from anger, from the lack of sunlight brought from sadness. The second my eyes glanced at you for a second and saw your red lips resting on hers, it was over for me. You ripped every root of hope in me, you crushed cocoons, you poured salt all over my garden and never allowed my feelings to bloom. All I could do was cry. What else is a girl to do? When the days I thought were golden, are really in black and white. What was I to do? What was I to do when the story that I thought I was writing, was written by this man, who got intrigued by another womans story. I lost all the control I never owned and all I could do was cry.

The End

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