Love Bucket List.


Carefully woven words. Beautifully crafted music.

I want to be the essence of the song you write for me. I want to be the melody of the song you play for me. I want to be the giggles seeping in while you sing the song for me over the phone. I want to be the colour of your cheeks when I clumsily clap for you. I want to be our forbidden poems; I want to be our secret feelings. I want to be everything you cherish.

Monotonous dance rehearsals. Intolerable emotional swirls.

I want to be the alluring choreography you try to perfect. I want to be that break of our sync that captures your attention. I want to be our dying rhythm you religiously crave to repair. I want to be those moments you elongate when our hands touch. I want to be our lost grace; I want to be our unyielding attempts. I want to be the company you want back.

Fading out colours. Heart-breaking canvas.

I want to be one of your shade strokes that aren’t forced. I want to be the paint that remains when the others dry out of inutility. I want to be the guiding muse that you decide to keep secret. I want to be the designs we etch on paper. I want to be our sketched mistakes; I want to be our illustrated guilt. I want to be the start to the end of our portrait.

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