A pain is subsiding within me,
Like an incline of emotional freedom in he.
He, who calls himself my heart,
Standing undecided about whom I should share a part,
A part, of my love.
It being, the both impulsive and shy love.
This pain exists only because of you.
You, who has too much to do,
Therefore not having time to spare
This is now making you blind to how much I care.
And the part, of my love,
That can only be captured by love.
But maybe you don’t have that.
That witch is love and parallel to fact
Maybe.
CT.poet
 10100
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Maybe
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romance
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