Definitions by My ❤️ flows
933
Soul-crushing level of longing that goes beyond a simple text...
Craving for the physical and spiritual steering of you.
Craving for the physical and spiritual steering of you.
I desperately realised that being all yours is the only place to feel found and without you, am just a ghost in my own life. I need you with me.
Follows me everywhere, a hollow ache of missing you so deeply that my entire existence feels like a work in progress because my caring love supervisor is gone...
Where are you my d......? With whom do you roam? What is it that I feel? Do IWYSB or is it bcoz I miss you so bad now. I’m sending you a 933 because I've never felt more alone nor missed you this much. Come home.
Follows me everywhere, a hollow ache of missing you so deeply that my entire existence feels like a work in progress because my caring love supervisor is gone...
Where are you my d......? With whom do you roam? What is it that I feel? Do IWYSB or is it bcoz I miss you so bad now. I’m sending you a 933 because I've never felt more alone nor missed you this much. Come home.
933 by My ❤️ flows February 3, 2026
1119
This maddening desire where you become hyper-aware of your partner, their pulse, their shallow breaths and the physical thrum of their body...
Don’t have the right words for what I felt when I was with you...everything just falls short. It was slow, intentional and so raw it felt almost unhinged....
I've written about this there (only for you, give it a read) with all the letters i could gather unsuccessfully to form words. The moment i start writing about that its just us there and iykyk what that does to an obsessed lover's mind like mine at 1119 🙈
I've written about this there (only for you, give it a read) with all the letters i could gather unsuccessfully to form words. The moment i start writing about that its just us there and iykyk what that does to an obsessed lover's mind like mine at 1119 🙈
1119 by My ❤️ flows February 3, 2026
717
It’s not a spark, it’s not a whim
It’s every breath and every hue
the lights that used to be so dim
Ignite when I’m with you
We walk a path the spirits laid
the ancient promise we renew
the end of doubt, the end of fear
Holds true
It’s every breath and every hue
the lights that used to be so dim
Ignite when I’m with you
We walk a path the spirits laid
the ancient promise we renew
the end of doubt, the end of fear
Holds true
Now I'm certain of this love
Everything is possible
let the 717 shine
as proof of what we’re meant to be
Your hand forever locked in mine
our spirits wild and finally free
You prove you are impossible 😘
Everything is possible
let the 717 shine
as proof of what we’re meant to be
Your hand forever locked in mine
our spirits wild and finally free
You prove you are impossible 😘
717 by My ❤️ flows February 2, 2026
1028
To be incredibly articulate in ink yet entirely silent in person. A connection of words where love has retreated from action into poetry. While the words are beautiful, any relationship cannot live on a page alone.
Your words carry the warmth of the sun we once shared; it’s beautiful that you remember us so vividly. But I no longer long for a version of "us" where love is just a poem. I miss the heartbeat of our beginning: the pink sticky notes, the absence of walls and the beautiful urgency of being chosen without hesitation. I miss when effort was as loud as words.
I miss when an hour of my silence prompted 50 messages—tipsy-turvy poems, song clips, and memes—just to get a "digital cuddle." Back then, I never worried about being left on read or ghosted. If I was busy, you’d simply call at the end of the day, ranting about your life and whispering sweet nothings until I fell asleep. You were ultra-attentive; I felt safe and prioritized from morning until night.
Now, these poems are just ghosts. I’m longing for the hands that wrote them 832.
Let’s find our way back to *easy.* Link our trust to safety net instead of doubting it as emotional spam. A word if not a rant para will do too. I’m still here, loving you through the hurt, waiting for the man who writes but fears closeness to finally step through the walls and prove it. 1028 Let’s not just remember the magic... let’s choose to live it.
I miss when an hour of my silence prompted 50 messages—tipsy-turvy poems, song clips, and memes—just to get a "digital cuddle." Back then, I never worried about being left on read or ghosted. If I was busy, you’d simply call at the end of the day, ranting about your life and whispering sweet nothings until I fell asleep. You were ultra-attentive; I felt safe and prioritized from morning until night.
Now, these poems are just ghosts. I’m longing for the hands that wrote them 832.
Let’s find our way back to *easy.* Link our trust to safety net instead of doubting it as emotional spam. A word if not a rant para will do too. I’m still here, loving you through the hurt, waiting for the man who writes but fears closeness to finally step through the walls and prove it. 1028 Let’s not just remember the magic... let’s choose to live it.
1028 by My ❤️ flows January 28, 2026