I don't know that when we are thirty, our heart becomes more softy. Tears easily fall; not trying to be silly, the movies I watch, the animals' video I see every morning, and the P.S. I Love You that I watch over and over again. Damn, I miss you that much, Luv. I wish it is your face the first thing that I see in the morning.
You're only 40 last month if you're still here, and I will laugh on you. You will laugh at me, too, because I don't like anything with 4. We're going to sit in the balcony and drinking beer, think how much longer our time in Jakarta and how the expats here trying to steal me from you but you never afraid about it because you're just being jealous. And so we are talking about how many Indonesian girls wanting my Lars.
But then you know what you want, you want this smart-ass girl to be annoyed every day. I'm honored to be yours, to be your home. How lucky I am?
My best friend might right in compiling the P.S. I Love You story,
"maybe you're being punished for being too happy, too beautiful. God can be a pretty jealous guy."
I don't know, I'm not beautiful, I'm never too happy, not at all after you left, I swear. And it's just hard to walk by myself in the room of full people, I can't do it. I can't promise you that I won't be sad or lose faith or to fall in love again.
You're only 40 last month if you're still here, and I will laugh on you. You will laugh at me, too, because I don't like anything with 4. We're going to sit in the balcony and drinking beer, think how much longer our time in Jakarta and how the expats here trying to steal me from you but you never afraid about it because you're just being jealous. And so we are talking about how many Indonesian girls wanting my Lars.
But then you know what you want, you want this smart-ass girl to be annoyed every day. I'm honored to be yours, to be your home. How lucky I am?
My best friend might right in compiling the P.S. I Love You story,
"maybe you're being punished for being too happy, too beautiful. God can be a pretty jealous guy."
I don't know, I'm not beautiful, I'm never too happy, not at all after you left, I swear. And it's just hard to walk by myself in the room of full people, I can't do it. I can't promise you that I won't be sad or lose faith or to fall in love again.
My heart cracked into two, Luv. What should I do?
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