skeptical
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Love is not what it seems. It is not a delicate feeling that makes one bubbly and light inside. It is not flowers and sunshine. Birds do not chirp. Rainbows do not appear. Life is not happy and perfect. Love is the opposite.
My mind has seasons of its own.....crashes by stainless pressure
critical remarks of laughter that i dont find amusing
Lips ready,
eyes aglow.
There's just one thing
I do not know.
Will all ther earth,
and all the sea,
really become
so dull to me?