"Love", they tell me.
But love doesn't bring and never has brought happiness.
On the contrary;
It's a constant state of anxiety,
A battlefield;
It's sleepless nights,
Asking ourselves all the time,
If we're doing the right thing.
Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony.
In the absence of life,
Death flourishes like wild mushrooms.
Give me a chance darling,
I will find a beam of light
Behind those evil boundaries.
As I came to my room and closed all the windows and doors. Pulled the curtain on it to block every single pore.
At times I even use every piece of my cloth to make sure lights don't peep in, and suddenly all I see is Black and forget what's happening.
No words can describe the comfort I feel when its dark. But its not purposeful that I did not forget to lock the door.
Because I knew he will come and bring all the naughtiness I had seen in him earlier.
