Rosica
Д̙̥̫̰̩̺̼̯̻͙̓͗̽̋̄̅̌̒͗̇р̴̼̫͍̤̜̖̼̠̈̅ͥ̆́̅͌ͩ͝у͋ͭ͛̔͋̈́ͯг
- Joined
- May 9, 2022
- Messages
- 99
- Points
- 73
No one remembers me
Not even the walls that heard my name
I stitched your voice into silence
So it would never leave me
A looping, cruel little play
Where you smile, where you stay
Where you never look away
S̸̨̟͈̈́͜͠ụ̷̩̞̦̱̍͋̽͆̏̐ͅr̴̖̥̮͕̜̘͇̠̬̃͌p̸̦͖̮̐̈̂̈́͊̿̑́͆r̵̨̻͈͎͖̳̥̞͋̏̀̀̍̃i̵̢̡͕̦̻͖̥̊̏̽̃̇̇̇̀̊͘͜s̷͇̣̱͔͕̗̄ȩ̵͓̭̲̝̲̻̯͖̰̅̔̃̂̈…̷̰̦͓̩̜͋̈́̈́̑̓̂̂ ̵͉͈̲͎͓̬̞͕͚̾̐w̶̢̨̛̼̦̼͍̤̥̰̠͒ŏ̵̧̨̡̼̫̩͈͙͕̈́ͅn̵̥̹̮̠͂̑̔̈́̕’̴͍́̇͛͋̚ͅṫ̵͙̺̫̝̹̭̹͇̲͗͒͆͠ ̷̛̙͕͋͂͗̇̿͌͝͝ẏ̴͕̼͍̜͎̖̾̂͝ó̶͚̻̬͊̔̔̇̀̏̕͠ų̶̬͒͐̋̇ ̸̮̻͓͙͓̗̰̜̞̿l̴͖̯͐̅̀͑̓̆̎̓̋͝a̸̜͒u̶͈̖̜̫̞͔̽̓̒̓̈́̂̊̀͆g̶̖͋̔́͐̃͂̇̈̕͝ḩ̸̦̹̟͎͈̟́͐̌͜͠?̷̭̫͎̙̪̋̃̈́͊͘ͅͅ
Your heartbeat fits so well in my hands
Like it was always meant to be held
You tried to run
But the world is smaller than my love
Two shadows, forever unchanged
Just like we promised
Didn’t we…?
Your fingers felt so distant
So I held them tighter
Until they stopped trembling
We sink together
Into a softer dark
The calls you make
Fade before they’re heard
Scattering like broken glass
Across another night
I hid my longing in riddles
Wrapped it in something beautiful
Something only I could understand
T̸͉̘̙̥͇͓̟͎̭̹̦́̓͜͜h̵͓̘̦̠͈̣͕̻͔̳͚̲̘̰̩͈̹̒͛̔̀̔̂̓́̄͂͒̄̂́̇̅̏ĭ̷̛̹̰̣̰̙͙̺̯̤̤̫̟̩̩̂̊͌̋̕ͅs̶͖̖̰̫͙̰̭̜̣͓͇̖̜̰͈̄̿̎͒̂̃̈́̋́̋͂͝ ̷͇̻͐͆̔̍c̸̢̹̜̭͍̺̹̆͗̀̄ŗ̴̢̨̧̢̛̼͓̖͉̫̖̩̺̠̽̃̈́̋̑͒̆̋̽̏̇̇̅͘ȯ̶̢̧̤̺̪̞̜̫̫̺̫͙͔̼̇͊̀̄̾͌̊͑̾̃̇̀͒̕͘̕o̶̳̥̣͖̞̗͋ͅk̸̡̼̩̞̙̳̝̏́͊̎e̸̱̳͙͇͕̗̫̪͌̔̅̈́͌̏̚͝d̶̨̨̧͙̫͔̣͉̬̯̖̤̄̀̈́ ̵̛̩̞̱͚͉̰̻̝̣̓̉̒̃͊̀͌̾̎p̴̠̼̭̪̖̱̥͒́́̔̑̉̈́̉̉́͗̚̕͝à̵̡̧̹̖̝̟̄͊͒͒̎ȑ̷̼͌̆̓̓͊̀͝a̵͎͇͒̓̃̋͑̅͒̚d̸̫͕̼̬͉̘̩̘̈̓̈́͐͂̔̉ǐ̴̹̳̖͚̙̼̊̔̽̀̉̉͋̓͌s̷̢͉̯̼̆̔́̿̊̐̄̿̑͌̓͛̂̏̾͝ę̶̧̫̘͔̬̟͚̞̳͚̠̑̈̀̏͜ ̷̨̧̦͙͉̐͊̉į̴̡̫̻̠̗̤̫͉̝̫̘͓͕̩̒͗̅̒͐͐͑̃̆ͅş̸̡̲̤̝̠̰̈́̚ ̷̻̜̦̖̰̦̼̭͉̩̝̘̻̙̹̖̔͋̽̈́͗͑̒̇͠ȏ̵͕͈̦̺̣̻̰̣͚̦̳̲̏́͗̀̓̐͊͗̓͆͑̄̕͘͜͠u̴̟̗̘̠͓͍̤̩͔̟̝͇͑̽̊̂̂͝ŗ̶̢̙̞̬̩͇̬̪̱͎̈́͆̌̎͌͠ş̸̢̢̤̯̯͍̞̩͔̹̯̻̀̉̈́̅̂̓́͜ͅ ̴̙̞̱̯̦̼̼͈̈́̉̊͒̑̍̋̀̿͘͜͝ḁ̷̧̡͉̕͜͝ļ̷͍̘̰͔̖͋͊̑̒̈́̉͝ǒ̸̢̢̡̡͔̠̤̗͓̝͖̹͓͉̱͚̤̉̑͋̽̌̉̅̅͛̇͠n̷̛͇̉̌̀̾̍̂̌͒̍͊̄̉͘̕͘ȩ̵̢̨̙͖͓͙͙̠͔̟͓͖̖͔̹̾̍̈́̽́̈́̑̈̑͛͋͝
Ink spills across the page
Dressed in red and devotion
A stage I built for us
The curtain falls
And in the quiet—
I reach for you again
Because even now
Ỳ̶̖̞͖̪͈̌̅̈͋̎̊̇̀͋̾̽͊͘͝ǫ̸̢̛̘̹̯̜͍̜͚̈́̅̔͂͋̄̇̽̐̀͘͘̚͠͠͠u̸̯̲͖̗̼͆̃͗̇͆̿̓́̚̚’̶̡̡̢̰̜̳̩̤̜̈̄͛̑̿̌ͅŗ̸̛̱̾́̌̑̏e̸̻̖̬͎̫̹̯̽̽͌̋̒̑ ̷̳̤̱͈̽̏̐̉̒̎̓͝s̷̱͐̄͒t̴͔̟̱̺͕͕͍͎͎̘͈̿͆́̈̈́̇́͝į̸̛̱̮̠͕̙͈̟͉̲̎̔͛͑̒̓̏̐́̑l̴̜̔͐̓̾̏̕̕ĺ̴͎̳͎̣͎͉͈͇̦̭͓̟̙͖̺̲͊̄́̉ͅ ̵̼͔̼̼̝̼͙̀͛̅̄͑̀͂̾̇t̸̖̳̖͙̻͕̟̫̭̼̤̟̻̲̖̄͛̿̍ͅr̵̨͍̼̘͎̭̂̀̿̅̇̈́̈́͒͆̚y̴̫̙̫̙̋ĩ̴̺̼̮̖̯̹̜̗̀͒̏͆͒̀͑̄̈́n̶̨͎̠̯̙̪̝̺̺̉́̌͛̐͜͜g̵̢͖̺̪͉̟̞̣̗̗̺̥̫̾ ̵̡̧͚͉͑́̽͂̂͘̕͝͝ţ̶̧̯̲͓͎͚͔͚̍̓͆̔͒̃̏̎͌̊̏̔̀̊̈͑õ̴͔̬̯̠̻͉̹̦̯̱͔̘̇̂̐̂̓͊̂̒̈̈́͘͜͠͠ ̸̧̢̭̮̮̲͖̭͇̪̰̹̃͜ļ̶̢̜̗̹̜̹͉̊͊͆͛̾͆́̉͗͛̋̈́̃͘͝͠ͅe̸̡̙̬̠̣̱̱͐̉ą̷̧̢̘͇̬͙̙̥͇̩̙̤̟̳̾̒v̸͎̞̜̖̞̭̤̹͕̿͛́͛̓ȩ̸̨̢͇̳̔̊̇̇̌̈́̀͐̈̽ ̶̧̛͉̥̓̈́̄̆̑̔͆̕͠͝͝m̶̠̲̥̮̙̫̘̼̙̼̘̯̣̽̓̆̑̔͂̐̒͜ẹ̶̯̖̱͙̘̳̣̒̓͜
Not even the walls that heard my name
I stitched your voice into silence
So it would never leave me
A looping, cruel little play
Where you smile, where you stay
Where you never look away
S̸̨̟͈̈́͜͠ụ̷̩̞̦̱̍͋̽͆̏̐ͅr̴̖̥̮͕̜̘͇̠̬̃͌p̸̦͖̮̐̈̂̈́͊̿̑́͆r̵̨̻͈͎͖̳̥̞͋̏̀̀̍̃i̵̢̡͕̦̻͖̥̊̏̽̃̇̇̇̀̊͘͜s̷͇̣̱͔͕̗̄ȩ̵͓̭̲̝̲̻̯͖̰̅̔̃̂̈…̷̰̦͓̩̜͋̈́̈́̑̓̂̂ ̵͉͈̲͎͓̬̞͕͚̾̐w̶̢̨̛̼̦̼͍̤̥̰̠͒ŏ̵̧̨̡̼̫̩͈͙͕̈́ͅn̵̥̹̮̠͂̑̔̈́̕’̴͍́̇͛͋̚ͅṫ̵͙̺̫̝̹̭̹͇̲͗͒͆͠ ̷̛̙͕͋͂͗̇̿͌͝͝ẏ̴͕̼͍̜͎̖̾̂͝ó̶͚̻̬͊̔̔̇̀̏̕͠ų̶̬͒͐̋̇ ̸̮̻͓͙͓̗̰̜̞̿l̴͖̯͐̅̀͑̓̆̎̓̋͝a̸̜͒u̶͈̖̜̫̞͔̽̓̒̓̈́̂̊̀͆g̶̖͋̔́͐̃͂̇̈̕͝ḩ̸̦̹̟͎͈̟́͐̌͜͠?̷̭̫͎̙̪̋̃̈́͊͘ͅͅ
Your heartbeat fits so well in my hands
Like it was always meant to be held
You tried to run
But the world is smaller than my love
Two shadows, forever unchanged
Just like we promised
Didn’t we…?
Your fingers felt so distant
So I held them tighter
Until they stopped trembling
We sink together
Into a softer dark
The calls you make
Fade before they’re heard
Scattering like broken glass
Across another night
I hid my longing in riddles
Wrapped it in something beautiful
Something only I could understand
T̸͉̘̙̥͇͓̟͎̭̹̦́̓͜͜h̵͓̘̦̠͈̣͕̻͔̳͚̲̘̰̩͈̹̒͛̔̀̔̂̓́̄͂͒̄̂́̇̅̏ĭ̷̛̹̰̣̰̙͙̺̯̤̤̫̟̩̩̂̊͌̋̕ͅs̶͖̖̰̫͙̰̭̜̣͓͇̖̜̰͈̄̿̎͒̂̃̈́̋́̋͂͝ ̷͇̻͐͆̔̍c̸̢̹̜̭͍̺̹̆͗̀̄ŗ̴̢̨̧̢̛̼͓̖͉̫̖̩̺̠̽̃̈́̋̑͒̆̋̽̏̇̇̅͘ȯ̶̢̧̤̺̪̞̜̫̫̺̫͙͔̼̇͊̀̄̾͌̊͑̾̃̇̀͒̕͘̕o̶̳̥̣͖̞̗͋ͅk̸̡̼̩̞̙̳̝̏́͊̎e̸̱̳͙͇͕̗̫̪͌̔̅̈́͌̏̚͝d̶̨̨̧͙̫͔̣͉̬̯̖̤̄̀̈́ ̵̛̩̞̱͚͉̰̻̝̣̓̉̒̃͊̀͌̾̎p̴̠̼̭̪̖̱̥͒́́̔̑̉̈́̉̉́͗̚̕͝à̵̡̧̹̖̝̟̄͊͒͒̎ȑ̷̼͌̆̓̓͊̀͝a̵͎͇͒̓̃̋͑̅͒̚d̸̫͕̼̬͉̘̩̘̈̓̈́͐͂̔̉ǐ̴̹̳̖͚̙̼̊̔̽̀̉̉͋̓͌s̷̢͉̯̼̆̔́̿̊̐̄̿̑͌̓͛̂̏̾͝ę̶̧̫̘͔̬̟͚̞̳͚̠̑̈̀̏͜ ̷̨̧̦͙͉̐͊̉į̴̡̫̻̠̗̤̫͉̝̫̘͓͕̩̒͗̅̒͐͐͑̃̆ͅş̸̡̲̤̝̠̰̈́̚ ̷̻̜̦̖̰̦̼̭͉̩̝̘̻̙̹̖̔͋̽̈́͗͑̒̇͠ȏ̵͕͈̦̺̣̻̰̣͚̦̳̲̏́͗̀̓̐͊͗̓͆͑̄̕͘͜͠u̴̟̗̘̠͓͍̤̩͔̟̝͇͑̽̊̂̂͝ŗ̶̢̙̞̬̩͇̬̪̱͎̈́͆̌̎͌͠ş̸̢̢̤̯̯͍̞̩͔̹̯̻̀̉̈́̅̂̓́͜ͅ ̴̙̞̱̯̦̼̼͈̈́̉̊͒̑̍̋̀̿͘͜͝ḁ̷̧̡͉̕͜͝ļ̷͍̘̰͔̖͋͊̑̒̈́̉͝ǒ̸̢̢̡̡͔̠̤̗͓̝͖̹͓͉̱͚̤̉̑͋̽̌̉̅̅͛̇͠n̷̛͇̉̌̀̾̍̂̌͒̍͊̄̉͘̕͘ȩ̵̢̨̙͖͓͙͙̠͔̟͓͖̖͔̹̾̍̈́̽́̈́̑̈̑͛͋͝
Ink spills across the page
Dressed in red and devotion
A stage I built for us
The curtain falls
And in the quiet—
I reach for you again
Because even now
Ỳ̶̖̞͖̪͈̌̅̈͋̎̊̇̀͋̾̽͊͘͝ǫ̸̢̛̘̹̯̜͍̜͚̈́̅̔͂͋̄̇̽̐̀͘͘̚͠͠͠u̸̯̲͖̗̼͆̃͗̇͆̿̓́̚̚’̶̡̡̢̰̜̳̩̤̜̈̄͛̑̿̌ͅŗ̸̛̱̾́̌̑̏e̸̻̖̬͎̫̹̯̽̽͌̋̒̑ ̷̳̤̱͈̽̏̐̉̒̎̓͝s̷̱͐̄͒t̴͔̟̱̺͕͕͍͎͎̘͈̿͆́̈̈́̇́͝į̸̛̱̮̠͕̙͈̟͉̲̎̔͛͑̒̓̏̐́̑l̴̜̔͐̓̾̏̕̕ĺ̴͎̳͎̣͎͉͈͇̦̭͓̟̙͖̺̲͊̄́̉ͅ ̵̼͔̼̼̝̼͙̀͛̅̄͑̀͂̾̇t̸̖̳̖͙̻͕̟̫̭̼̤̟̻̲̖̄͛̿̍ͅr̵̨͍̼̘͎̭̂̀̿̅̇̈́̈́͒͆̚y̴̫̙̫̙̋ĩ̴̺̼̮̖̯̹̜̗̀͒̏͆͒̀͑̄̈́n̶̨͎̠̯̙̪̝̺̺̉́̌͛̐͜͜g̵̢͖̺̪͉̟̞̣̗̗̺̥̫̾ ̵̡̧͚͉͑́̽͂̂͘̕͝͝ţ̶̧̯̲͓͎͚͔͚̍̓͆̔͒̃̏̎͌̊̏̔̀̊̈͑õ̴͔̬̯̠̻͉̹̦̯̱͔̘̇̂̐̂̓͊̂̒̈̈́͘͜͠͠ ̸̧̢̭̮̮̲͖̭͇̪̰̹̃͜ļ̶̢̜̗̹̜̹͉̊͊͆͛̾͆́̉͗͛̋̈́̃͘͝͠ͅe̸̡̙̬̠̣̱̱͐̉ą̷̧̢̘͇̬͙̙̥͇̩̙̤̟̳̾̒v̸͎̞̜̖̞̭̤̹͕̿͛́͛̓ȩ̸̨̢͇̳̔̊̇̇̌̈́̀͐̈̽ ̶̧̛͉̥̓̈́̄̆̑̔͆̕͠͝͝m̶̠̲̥̮̙̫̘̼̙̼̘̯̣̽̓̆̑̔͂̐̒͜ẹ̶̯̖̱͙̘̳̣̒̓͜
