هر که شود صیدِ عشق، کی شود او صیدِ مرگ؟

not a single bone in my body craves love anymore.

تحمل کن عزیزِ دل‌شکسته.

دل تو امروزیه قصه‌ی «دوست‌داشتن» رو باور نداره، دل من قدیمیه عاشقِ عشقیه که آخر نداره.

افسوس که بی‌فایده فرسوده شدیم.

از سخن لبریز و از گفتار خاموشیم ما.

When chaos raised you, peace doesn’t feel safe, it feels strange.

بهم نگو fine shyt بهم بگو گیسو پریشان.

I'd split cherries open one by one, knowing they'd leave my hands red. Not because I enjoy the mess, but because I wanted to give you only the sweetest parts. You enjoyed the sweetness of the cherries, but all you could see was the red they left on me.
The sweetness fades from memory, but the stained hands remain carrying the blame for what was, in truth, only devotion.
In the end, they never remember who stained their hands for them.
I’d pit cherries for you but you won’t like the mess.

What about me? Was loving me worth all the mess or do you regret it?

My type of love would scare a therapist but it would thrill a poet.

رها کردم.

«گرچه دیگر هستی‌ام را شوق دیداری نمانده‌ست.»