I used to only pick up a pen for myself but now I pick one up for you too. Is there such a thing as an unselfish love poem? I don’t know, but I’m trying.
There is a knowing in her, she hears them say, that makes her untamable. She has known since she was a child that she is observant in a way that makes them uncomfortable.
I’d like to think our love does return to us reincarnated in different human forms. That people might be temporary, but love is permanent and it just changes form.
