My novel has never ceased on writing itself but
*I wonder why it left some pages that should have been filled years ago.

don't ******* read.

Why all beings have
Their own grasped idea
When they hear
The word love

Why do people
Still pretend
To know its bounds
And what lies behind

Why are they seeking
Definitions and explanations
And ask "will it go too far,
Or just cease with a blur"

Why do others
Get afraid to take again
A step or two
And see a result

Why most people
Hesitate to trust
Thinking they would
Break like fallen glass

Why others do not want
To have this bliss again
Doubtful if they can
Correct the past mistakes

Why some feelings
Were left unspoken
So it would not lead
To ruins of valued things

Why does the mouth
Speaks lies and fiction
Contradicting the rush
Of the flow of the rhyme

Why others perceive
That love can hurt
Yet others believe
It is worth a chance

Why does love
Don't have rules
A set of definite,
Precise expressions

Love may be a whisper
And it indeed varies
Unpredictable
Comes in a surprise

No one can decode
The complexity of it
The only thing you can do
Is to ask "why"

Love,
apology,
gratitude.

**Some things
can be beautifully written
out of
hate