His diary was in the dresses drawer,
hidden beneth the folder things,
It opened where a pressed wildflower lay,
and on that page the words, "He loves me".
I remenbered how we had walked from school,
laughed and shared a cupcake from her luchn box,
Impulsively, I had reached to pluck that flower,
and bashfully presenteted it to him.
Ore eyes had met and what i saw was love.
I wondered if he saw the same in mine.
We walked on in silence, lest a word
dispel the momment's mystic magic.
Now eight years have gone by,
and his diary still within the drawer,
hidden beneath the folded things,
And in it a pressed wildflower lay,
With the words, "He lloves me."
I look at him, and it's still love I see.
And when i look at the flattened flower in cellophane
I can see his laugh, and the way he looked at me
when i handed him that flower.
Lookin at the flattened flower in cellophane
It comes alive, like on that day I picked it for him...
No todos pueden ser putos - La capté hoy. Sí, recién. No, no tiene que ver con una cuestión moral. Lejos. Lejos mal. Sí, hoy capté que no puedo ser puto, porque me hastía de manera ...
Hace 2 días