Love that sends us crushing
My baby tells me:
"I composed this myself"
"It took hours coz i'm not a writer"
"I just wanted to convey my feelings to you."
I am lucky to have such a girl that takes time to write me love notes, their valuable time, all the time they have at their disposal. That's such a friend that I have, eager to spend time with me, eager to chat under the skies whether cold or hot, never getting soaked in torrents of rain while with me, and never getting tiresome on walking miles on end searching for her love.
She is as agile as a deer, quick to action, and slow to anger. Able to do all things in a motherly way, with the gift of a wise woman. Walking home in the best regalia, the feminine self going along, she is the best woman the world has given forth.
I have always wondered why love is such a cruel monster, I never thought the monster has no life of his own, perhaps to feel the hurt that happens when there's no more to love. That monster that takes over the little love things departed, im talking about that monster. He makes us feel unwanted, unloved, unappreciated, unrecognized, unwelcome, unhappy, unwise, dispirited, disavowed, dismissed. The monster takes it's toll on us and makes the world around us loose meaning, creating a haze no medicine can cure.
The feeling of love is everlasting, the feeling of loveless is death. It's so ironic love has two sides fully incompatible with one another, so far yet so near.
I say to myself "I just want to go home to be by myself, to cry, to wail, to sleep in my tears", yet I want to linger, to wait, to be hopeful. Love is kind, and unkind, too. It keeps us hopeful, and hopeless. Love is tender, Love is patient - it keeps us waiting until we are sure enough about our judgement. Thats love that makes hopelessness into hope that we can live by.
Once bitten by a loveburg, always in love, yet the dynamics of falling in love result in broken hearts, wounded souls, dispirited bodies. I am longing to meet the most admirable of the creation, yet my fear is written on my face, the future though dear, promising and enduring, is teeming with unspoilt love waiting to sprout to the spring flower. My flower girl. So beautiful yet so far away. She is my song, she is a sight to behold. Her sound is like the violin, her steps like the deer - "if only I wanna hold you baby"?
But its all a mirage now - my eyes clouding, my hands weakly, my voice failing. My frail body is dragging along. It will be a long time before I have the joy of falling in love again. I think so.
"I composed this myself"
"It took hours coz i'm not a writer"
"I just wanted to convey my feelings to you."
I am lucky to have such a girl that takes time to write me love notes, their valuable time, all the time they have at their disposal. That's such a friend that I have, eager to spend time with me, eager to chat under the skies whether cold or hot, never getting soaked in torrents of rain while with me, and never getting tiresome on walking miles on end searching for her love.
She is as agile as a deer, quick to action, and slow to anger. Able to do all things in a motherly way, with the gift of a wise woman. Walking home in the best regalia, the feminine self going along, she is the best woman the world has given forth.
I have always wondered why love is such a cruel monster, I never thought the monster has no life of his own, perhaps to feel the hurt that happens when there's no more to love. That monster that takes over the little love things departed, im talking about that monster. He makes us feel unwanted, unloved, unappreciated, unrecognized, unwelcome, unhappy, unwise, dispirited, disavowed, dismissed. The monster takes it's toll on us and makes the world around us loose meaning, creating a haze no medicine can cure.
The feeling of love is everlasting, the feeling of loveless is death. It's so ironic love has two sides fully incompatible with one another, so far yet so near.
I say to myself "I just want to go home to be by myself, to cry, to wail, to sleep in my tears", yet I want to linger, to wait, to be hopeful. Love is kind, and unkind, too. It keeps us hopeful, and hopeless. Love is tender, Love is patient - it keeps us waiting until we are sure enough about our judgement. Thats love that makes hopelessness into hope that we can live by.
Once bitten by a loveburg, always in love, yet the dynamics of falling in love result in broken hearts, wounded souls, dispirited bodies. I am longing to meet the most admirable of the creation, yet my fear is written on my face, the future though dear, promising and enduring, is teeming with unspoilt love waiting to sprout to the spring flower. My flower girl. So beautiful yet so far away. She is my song, she is a sight to behold. Her sound is like the violin, her steps like the deer - "if only I wanna hold you baby"?
But its all a mirage now - my eyes clouding, my hands weakly, my voice failing. My frail body is dragging along. It will be a long time before I have the joy of falling in love again. I think so.
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