Love is just non existent in my existence.
I want to love you but your love is so distant.
I need warmth and love to behold my thoughts and soul.
Text messages are sufficient.
But things just seem missing.
I care about us and I care about you.
This love is true…
I am a hopeless romanticist.
It is horrible or distasteful that I fall in love with every beautiful woman that walks into my life.
I’d cry, die, and am quick to make them my wife?
This generation is lost, and difficult beyond belief.
But at once, I am dramatic and affected independently, absolutely indefinitely, and wish to subdue my romanticist attitude with lovely poetry…