Love
Love is really not told
This interaction splatters itself from the oceans of large numbers of dream-decorating eye sockets in the eyelashes that glisten in the conscience.
Love
can't be described
It has managed to make itself understood by looking through the skylights of the eye sockets. In the supernatural creature of feeling, it pulses forth by itself like a spring.
Love
is also not shown
It must go besides being social lives in the plasma
The heart rate in the chest are incorporated in the capillaries and arteries.
Love
is really not tried to teach
It keeps fingertips and casually strolls with us unfamiliar lengths. It dramas in each single corner of the conscience.
Love
is really not secret
It starts to break all the facade like an eau de, skincare products the spirit and imprisons the emotions
It gets to sleep in scenes and muscle pain in aspirations
He has managed to make himself understood by cursing incoherently in the eyes
Love
is just not managed to make a convict either
She break time all the chains in anxious and enjoyment and thus does not think twice to pass herself in the manner of her compatriots. It rule book the surpasses operating through the capillaries
It doesn't somehow capitulate to the requests of convenience
It starts to fall at the feet of the human it corresponds to and needs to ask for a mark of its occurrence or non-existence
If it is recognised, the life force sang the tracks of contentment
But in the case of exclusion, a little disassociate break time in the heart like death
The spluttering breath does become utterly powerless and seethes from life
Life makes light of the headless body
A mild peck continues to burn the heart for an entire life
Neither does death arise
Neither does life itself
Lovers are forgotten and trying to find their individuality
They very often combat with themselves
If loooooooove is authentic
#Hayach
© princess haya