It was not infatuation;
Nor was it love at first sight.
Started as an acquaintanceship,
Developed into friendship and Matured into close friendship.

Without my conscious mind's awareness,
This close friendship,
Secretly and silently,
Blossomed into
A beautiful flower of love
In my subconscious mind.

One day, this flower of love
Surged upwards into
My conscious mind
Which was dazed
When struck by it
Like a bolt from the blue.

Love is a mixed blessing
With tormentig pangs and
Riddled with oxymorons:
Painful pleasures;
Unexpected expectations;
Extactic agoniy and
Hopeful despair.
Love is a mental torture
When there's a tug-of-war
Between the conflicting emotions
Of an oxymoron.

When I was about to declare
My love to my beloved,
A voice within...