The roses I know are red
But the poses I chose are dead
The val I waited for turns tine
Tears drop to hear valentine
Tine that stabbed my heart
My blood spilled
With it she dinned
I changed to appreciate hibiscus
But countenance fell to see it's also red
That reminds me of the Rose
That she was to me
And the blood
That spilled out of my broken heart for the sake of love
I considered Pride of Barbados
When she was my pride
When there used to be us
The memories will never die
Dressed in black to morn the death of our love on val
Dear Val
Let my confession be an evidence
Forget today not as a past
Accept my condolence
What a crazy act to have let this out of my diary. But I feel relieved disclosing it. It really hurt to be in love but the truth is that it is usually awesome at first sight. How else do we describe love when it is still fresh and yet to overripe.
At first He/She came as a crush, infatuation indeed, became a lover and in no time the fire went off. Lost. So what really are we to say love is. Just feelings or the care that exist amidst the lovers?
