imperfection

By
Love is the world’s greatest mystery

It can be a parasite—God’s blessing or Beelzebub’s curse

It either nags at your mind,
Or gives it cradles it gently

It either manipulates your train of thought
Or sets it going at a high speed

It’s either a bloodcurdling scream
Or a bittersweet rhapsody

Love either tires you out
Or hands you fresh coffee each morning

But my friends, the point being that
Love is anything and everything
Ergo meaning that,
Love isn’t perfect at all





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