You could hear it in the way she talked and you would know her love was true. The way she whispered to herself how amazing he was, even if no one was around to hear, a blind man could see how much he meant to her. So when he told her that the millions of freckles upon her cheeks, were the amount of kisses he would steal. Which were a lie because he would have kidnapped an infinity more to never give up the touch of her lips. So of course she was happy. No not happy. It's another word that cannot be found in a dictionary, or the encyclopedia. It was literature that was typed fiercely on his lips. Poems written fluently on his tongue. And fairytales displayed in nightly comforts. But in the truth of it all this was love. Finally a love story worth telling, because he truly believes gravity its self was not holding him down on the soil of Earth. It was her.
By a.j.c
YOU ARE READING
The Bullshit Journal ~ by a.j.c
PoesíaJust another idiotic poem book That will never be anything more And you probably won't read any of this. But if you do. You must have felt pain like this to understand any of it. If not, and you still understand. You're just lying to yourself.
