Dead roses

She may love without any condition,
And under any condition for this is her. This is what she knows, how she was raised. Even when shallow hearts refuse to give back she will give up all in the name of being the perfect love. The warm heart in winter winds that never rejects a cold shoulder. This has become her hearts beaten path; beaten and tossed from one sea to another stream. Tears stream from her eyes as she makes them disappear before they fall into her lap.

No return of love means she hasn’t loved hard enough, shouting matches convey to her that her tone is too harsh. Yes she can love without end and pretend that the roses just need water. She can play perfectly as if love is fair to her.But she still sleeps on a soaked pillow; dreaming of ways to become a better lover for the one who does not want to be loved.


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