𝑨 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑻𝒐 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒐𝒊𝒅 [ 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑑 ]

Masochist

The light from your orbs irradiates the heart and soul of you. I believe it's love, but you'd beg to disagree. Love for you was scary and grievious. If you were to describe it, you would say it's cruel and rugged. And if you were to give a methaphorical meaning about it, you would say it's the knife that would cut the sweet honeybees from the innocent flowers on a meadow of red roses on a summer day. And my love, please stop. Perhaps, that's what you get from reading remorseful best selling novels of New York times. But dear, we were not the characters of those novels. Our hands were not the ones that touch and leave- the ones that hold and let go. We are us and we are the scrivener of our fairytale. Touch the lines of my callous palm; trace the footsteps of the words I have written- kiss it and taste the honey and milk of my poetry and see that love is not bitter at all. But still, if you'd disagree, then let it be then- describe love as horrific, grotesque, harsh and unaesthetic. But let me tell you that by those, you're breaking me. But if that is your  vignette of love, then break me for century.