Among many flowers I stand still…

Love is selfish. When the love of your life is thinking or talking of another, even as a joke, it hurts like hell. The psin is raw like a fresh stab, the blood oozing from the wound that will never heal. Again and again it hurts. The pain excruciating and gruesome. Its not that I want you not to look at any. I do not believe in limiting your freedom. It will not take me anywhere and you will hate me for that.
Sometimes I fail to read your mind. I wonder perhaps you might wonder about sexier chicks than the faithful me. Being faithful is boring and not excited but I love you and I want to grow old with you. I seek none in my next lives too. I will die for you. Would those who are subject to your infatuation would do that is none of my problems. I love you. That I am quite certain. I hate to be one of many flowers in your life. And in next lives to come too. Simply because my love is not weak…

~ Dilly ~


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