My only reason to live, a flower, oh so dainty.
Love, a never ending saga, series, in which it will continue, until right before she leaves in which I will feel nothing.
I tap her neck and her head does much more than tip forward, the back sensitive. She yells, then laughs.
Playful.
An interesting word.
She seems strong, but it's clear to any who listens, you must be gentle.
Worried of acting spoiled, she still will request something all her will wants, eager.
However, she will try again, until she gets her way.
Some may say it's persistent, stubborn.
I think it's beautiful.
May she grow until she gets enough sunlight to bud all she can, blossoming to her peak in which she has all she desires.
She will be happy, and then grow tired, finding new goals, new achievements to achieve.
Human nature, I say.
Starve, unless we're stubborn.
Worried, she may be.
But all I see is beauty.
She listens, whether through word or through song.
Through writing, sometimes.
We write our words, finding more and more ways to get in contact, all the while I wish our lips were in contact.
'A small stomach', she claims, however you can tell that she's hungry, the appetite is what she lacks.
She will refuse food, claiming photosynthesis powers herself, although it's quite obvious she's a carnivorous plant.
Oh so dainty, the flower waits, the flower walts, and the flower wilts.
As I watch, falling deeper, knowing her issues are like my own.
I will give her what she desires, whether she knows my intent or not, I will buy her gifts, give her all she could every want and more, showering my own petals over her just to make her happy.
I may wilt, I may wither, but she may rise.
I will be a flower, oh so dainty.
Just for her.
