this has yet to be named. x

this has yet to be named. x

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WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación dom, feb 15, 2015
Lovelier than the tallest sunflower blooming in a meadow. Hotter than the surface of Eta Carinae. Much more precious than the rarest stone. Cuter than a newborn baby's first giggle. That was you, that was all you. But, somewhere in between the first kiss and the first drop of blood, I lost you. I don't think that I'll ever get back the girl with the bouncy ponytail and cotton candy flavored lips. And I'm not so sure that I want to.
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I made a promise, a commitment, a vow, and an oath that I'd never fall into the brutality they call love ever again, as it is something not to be toyed with. Think of it this way: Love is like a scented candle. The candle stick and the waxed aroma make the candle itself. Then it's ignited by a great inferno, and together, they make a beautiful thing. It burns for a long time, but then it loses that flame, that spark that ignited the creature. I guess the two most important ingredients gave up on each other. "Love" can be a metaphor, a simile, but most of all, a promise. A promise that can't be kept, something that waits until infinity to be broken. At least that's what I, Roseabella Swayed, once believed.

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