If love is patient and love is kind, then why does ignore the tears we bring to our lover's eyes?
How can I love another soul only to lose all self-control, barricade myself in a room with insults and obscenities as the padding on its walls.
I love unconditionally, without expectation, then harbour resentment which materializes as frustration when it's not reciprocated.
If love does not envy then tell me, how did I feel resentful of the simplicity with which my partner loved me, when my own journey was an emotional, and wild ride?
Uncharacteristic of love to boast or be proud, yet my own experiences with it fill me with guilt that permanently lingers, like a storm-cloud that shrouds the world in grey, then turns it upside down.
Love is not meant to dishonour others, yet here we are ashamed that we let down our guard.
If only I had held on tighter, neither of us would now be lost.
Remorse is a wicked thing as it will not let me let go, knowing I have caused you pain and scarred your soul with my twisted misinterpretation of love.
It's rumoured that love is not self-seeking but, in retrospect, it's clear I always put myself first.
I belittled you, repeatedly; each barb cut away layers of your confidence, and then I pursued you until you were convinced that all I uttered was a lie.
I commend you now for staying in my wicked game for as long as you did, admire your resilience as you became skillfully adept at handling my illness.
Not easily angered, love can only withstand so much before it has had all that it can take and decides that's more than enough.
Forced to be calm and bite its tongue for far too long, our love began to choke from all the toxic trauma that it had swallowed.
Love is not supposed to keep records of wrongs but how should it forget all the sadness, and somehow just be strong?
Is it eventually not a lack of love for oneself that keeps forgiving another's abuse despite putting them through Hell?
I delighted in evil though I denied it, depriving us of liberation from the truth.
As we held one another for the last time, I wished I'd never been such a fool.
Always protects, trusts, hopes and perseveres; if only I'd learned this sooner, maybe we would have been in love for years.
Love never fails but once I allowed ego to invade our love, insecurity was all that could prevail.
How can I love another soul only to lose all self-control, barricade myself in a room with insults and obscenities as the padding on its walls.
I love unconditionally, without expectation, then harbour resentment which materializes as frustration when it's not reciprocated.
If love does not envy then tell me, how did I feel resentful of the simplicity with which my partner loved me, when my own journey was an emotional, and wild ride?
Uncharacteristic of love to boast or be proud, yet my own experiences with it fill me with guilt that permanently lingers, like a storm-cloud that shrouds the world in grey, then turns it upside down.
Love is not meant to dishonour others, yet here we are ashamed that we let down our guard.
If only I had held on tighter, neither of us would now be lost.
Remorse is a wicked thing as it will not let me let go, knowing I have caused you pain and scarred your soul with my twisted misinterpretation of love.
It's rumoured that love is not self-seeking but, in retrospect, it's clear I always put myself first.
I belittled you, repeatedly; each barb cut away layers of your confidence, and then I pursued you until you were convinced that all I uttered was a lie.
I commend you now for staying in my wicked game for as long as you did, admire your resilience as you became skillfully adept at handling my illness.
Not easily angered, love can only withstand so much before it has had all that it can take and decides that's more than enough.
Forced to be calm and bite its tongue for far too long, our love began to choke from all the toxic trauma that it had swallowed.
Love is not supposed to keep records of wrongs but how should it forget all the sadness, and somehow just be strong?
Is it eventually not a lack of love for oneself that keeps forgiving another's abuse despite putting them through Hell?
I delighted in evil though I denied it, depriving us of liberation from the truth.
As we held one another for the last time, I wished I'd never been such a fool.
Always protects, trusts, hopes and perseveres; if only I'd learned this sooner, maybe we would have been in love for years.
Love never fails but once I allowed ego to invade our love, insecurity was all that could prevail.
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