Thursday, July 06, 2006


Love is many a thing and comes with many a form.
My love is selfish and jealous as they come.
Difficult to accept that I am not the only one, pensive is the heart.
Yet, my love is also desperate, holding on by every mean.
They say if its true love its free, freely do the love they give.
But yet no Saint am I, not a Saint I am meant to be.
Therefore a jealous lover will I be, be it true love or not we'll see.


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