Love is just a word. A word that cannot explain the tremendous feeling. But a poem, certainly, can. If only we could read minds. We would be able to know how the person truly feels. Whether it be for better or worse. Ignorance isn’t bliss; it’s a curse.

Maybe I am not the best. Maybe I could be better. But who said you were perfect? No reason to bombard you with clichés. They don’t explain this. This is what makes me who I am. Only an evil person would dare twist and manipulate this. Even if they do; what do they gain?

I can only live once. Why not make the best of it? With someone I care for. If it doesn’t last long, so what? At least it was another chance at serenity. A tear may be sheared, a wound may be re-opened. A wound that takes too long to close. But, at least it won’t be a void.

I have done what I can. I hope you understand. I hope you can make me happy. I hope you will reply to me. But, that is all I can do is hope for the best. And expect the worst. Maybe if I was simple in the mind. Maybe everything would be fine. How else would I express myself without complexity though? I might be a fool blinded with this feeling. As long as I am happy with you. Who cares? I am losing what’s left of my dignity. But, I will use what’s left of it to win you back. For a hell or a heavan.