Strangers Don’t

I don’t know what we are, but we’re not strangers.

Strangers don’t block each other’s numbers.

Strangers don’t keep the history of long texts between the two.

Strangers don’t avoid each other’s gazes to hide what they are feeling; missing you or hating you.

Strangers don’t ache every single time one hears the other’s name.

Strangers can’t possibly know your favorite song or the vegetable you hate.

Strangers may not recognize you in their minds, but strangers don’t have your fingertips in their ribcages.

Strangers don’t look at the clock, thinking what you are doing right now, and being absolutely correct.

Strangers don’t keep your sweaters in their closets.

Strangers don’t whisper your name in their prayers.

Strangers can’t miss the feeling of your touch.

Strangers don’t cry in the middle of the night because they want to hold your hand.

Strangers don’t tolerate the pain you give them.

Strangers don’t give you second chances.

Strangers don’t watch your life in pictures.

Strangers don’t get jealous when you are with someone new.

Strangers don’t cook you a soup when they hear you’re sick, even when they know they can’t give it to you.

Strangers don’t look at you like you put the stars in the sky.

Strangers don’t break your heart every day for the constant feeling of losing you.

Strangers don’t hurt. Strangers don’t truly, unconditionally, irrevocably love you.

But I do.

So, I don’t know what we are. But we’re not strangers.


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She tells lies thru her writings.

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