Love wore sagged sweat pants, Chris Brown caps, had Mohawk, a golden teeth and an American accent. Love played a bass guitar and knew all the chords to even my heartbeat. Love was a poet who could jiggle jungle with words to make me a love poem, Love was an artist, he could use brushes and pencil to put me down on paper.
Love wasn’t afraid to ride the bus with me, he got me butterflies…and i knew i was searching the wrong classroom, the wrong cafeteria, Love had to be there, I was sure of that, if only i could find him…
But when Love finally showed up he wore official trousers, a well ironed shirt and a matching tie. He had short neat hair ,white teeth and no accent at all. Love knew nothing about guitar not even how many strings it had and love couldn’t write a paragraph leave alone a poem neither could he draw…Love hated the bus and killed caterpillars, they were no more butterflies…
Love became the reason I no longer feared darkness because he was my moon….He had a soft voice that declared all my senses extremely active, suddenly I could see the way he bit his lips; I could smell his scent, I could hear his heartbeat and I could taste my tears…but Love also cried…He cried when he laughed, it was like watching the rain when its sunny…Love chews too loud…
love will tell you, – you are beautifully;
when your sad, he’l say – You are beautiful;
When you just wake up – You are beautiful;
When you’ve just been crying – You are beautiful;
When you don’t wanna hear it.. – You are beautiful;
When you don’t believe it; When no one else thinks so – Love still says – YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL….