in 11:11, I wished I could still write you millions of poems
or sing you thousands of songs
or still be able to write our love story
but no, I shouldn't
because who am I to you?
I'm the worst person you ever met
I hurt you so much
I made you feel so bad
I made your life hard
so what right do I have to do those?
I'll just suppress everything, treasure everything until I lose my breath
11:11, I really wish I can still write for you
11:11, but I don't have the right to have you as my muse
11:11, so I would still write from afar, in secret, I can't let you hear about it