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- Parts 17
"I wish someone would've told me what love was. I wish someone would have explained it to me. The way he caressed my hand and kissed my forehead. When he whispered his darkest secrets in my ear. His touch against my skin. The euphoric scent of his presence lingered on my body long after I faded away. They always said falling in love with a devil would get you burned."
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Yours Forcefully
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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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