To her past,
She suffers now from philophobia,
a fear of falling in love.
She do not know now herself,
her motion, and her existence.
I see you make her weak
and vulnerable to pain and hatred.
I am to demand you a deal:
I will love her to convince that
she's more than good,
then you stop throwing shits on her.
I will love her until you become
just a memory faded along the
shoreline of a beach,
until she recognizes my love,
until you become her nightmare
of unworthiness.
I will love her until she sees
the best in me and the nothing in you.
© Vince Navarez
