"I want the real you" she criedHe hesitated and said " I can't"She insisted,"its the only way, I can't take you otherwise"then he looked on to her daring eyes and did what she asked.He poured his messy soul in a cup.He mixed loyalty later with betrayal, his big dreams with his dark past, his honesty in denial, his tenderness with indifference , his boldness with resistance, his shame with arrogance, forever with an end and eternity in breakups.Then he gave her the glass of his bare heart with shaking hand saying "its blend of bittersweet, you won't like it"but She looked up to him with "I love all of you" smirk. And taken aback by the aroma she eagerly wanted to drink
Once upon this life, we were like soulmate; we bared our heart into one another with no secret left.Oh this life! But now we are like two people who never met; we become best strangers.
We want to be in relation but its too early at this ageWe want to mend the things we broke but now its too late.We were so in love but we were never actually meant.my love, How can we go at this rate?She reasoned, she explained"but" is now the word he hates.Fate wrote on their final episode "but" instead of "the end"Hilarious how some stories break in the middle of a sentence.
'Tis Christmas weather, and a country houseReceives us: rooms are full: we can but getAn attic-crib. Such lovers will not fretAt that, it is half-said. The great carouseKnocks hard upon the midnight's hollow door,But when I knock at hers, I see the pit.Why did I come here in that dullard fit?I enter, and lie couched upon the floor.Passing, I caught the coverlet's quick beat:--Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain--Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain!Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat.The small bird stiffens in the low starlight.I know not how, but shuddering as I slept,
When midnight comes a host of dogs and menGo out and track the badger to his den,And put a sack within the hole, and lieTill the old grunting badger passes bye.He comes and hears--they let the strongest loose.The old fox hears the noise and drops the goose.The poacher shoots and hurries from the cry,And the old hare half wounded buzzes bye.They get a forked stick to bear him downAnd clap the dogs and take him to the town,And bait him all the day with many dogs,And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.He runs along and bites at all he meets:They shout and hollo down the noisy streets.He turns about to face the loud uproarAnd drives the rebels to their very door.
Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.