Secret little smiles, and sly glances exchanged
He loves me
Sharp irritation from me, and harsh logic from him
He loves me not
Secrets told, and favors done
He loves me
But then again, I could never tolerate his pride
He. Loves. Me. Not
Bright smiles, and flirtatious phrases
He. Loves. Me.
Memories of other girls
He loves me not
Memories of his that I'll never tell a soul
He loves me
Suppressed feelings, jealousy, about twenty chapters inspired purely by him, infatuation, affection, hugs, giggles, immature little jokes
A thousand roses
And
I love him...
He loves me not.
YOU ARE READING
The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts
PoezjaThe scattered musings about love and life by a(n) (a)musing girl who knows little of either.
