French - the language of romance.

Or so they say.

I always get it as the language of heartbreak.

And he was blissfully unaware that with every word he said to her, she was falling even more in love with him.

Every time that she smiles at you, she's thinking of all the things she wants to say to you, all the things she wants to do with you, all the times she needs to be with you.

All of the things she can never have.

With my words that you borrow,
You'll make your way through tomorrow,
With my dreams that you steal,
You'll earn youself another meal,
But with my heart that you broke,
Well, on that meal I hope you choke.

She got a text. It pushed the dagger further into her heart, cutting her to pieces, reminding her that he would never belong to her.

They say that hate is a strong word. Well, I think love is a strong word, and it gets said just too loosely nowadays.

Where has the true meaning disappeared to?

You said you would walk through hell and back just to be with me. Go on then. On the way the flames might just melt your icy heart enough for me to love you again.

But then again, I don't think anything is hot enough to do that, not even love.

I hate having my heart broken, it hurts so bad.
What I hate even more, is when my heart is broken, but not enough to stop me loving the next fool that comes along. And it kills

He's like a rose: delicate, soft, beautiful, but with sharp thorns that catch you every now and then. But now these thorns are so painful I just gotta let go. But I can't. I'm stuck on them, I'm stuck on him.

Someone once told me that life is too short. I said 'Why? It's the longest thing I'm ever gonna know.'