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Exaggeration is another term to spell out the truth, when we microscope our events. We find the things which make us tick. Like a clock work that keeps time irrespective of the presence or absence of sunlight, so are our feelings for one another. In darkness in blurriness of form, in our misty absence and clear presence. We find each other like a sailor, in a  stormy sea, our hearts point in the right direction our true north.
We are cool like clouds, as when we near each other we thunder and the lightening we produce illuminate. We are like the olive branches at the sent of summer we bloom and pale the days of non flowering. We are the masinga dam, when we over flow even the strong houses nearby have to give way to our mighty flood.
You want to love me, I know you do.
You want to express Eros to m, that you could.
But your love isn't inch deep in me, coz I only respond to my kind of loving.

To the sun you wish to take me,
But an a night kind of a guy,
To the festival you want to have me,
But a cave kinda person.
Your love generously given, but my thirst only my kind of love can reach.

Clothes you kinda buy me, but wind I love to feel on my skin. Shoes and trinkets you provide but grey is my colour.
To ensure your heart cease from hurts, am giving your the manual to my love, my kind of love.
Sugar  is sweet,
memories are sweeter.  
Our hearts aches, it drinks the dregs of loneliness, but it's quenched by sweet mosels of good memories.

Youthfulness is the writing class,  old age is the reading  class where memories are read.  As we cold with age,  memories warm us up.
You met him just like others before him,  he was rough and very very raw.
You detested him,  saw him below your level.  
He wormed his way into your heart and became part and parcel  of your being.  
He had nothing, no life,  you breathed purpose into him.  
He used to crawl, you became his legs.  
A blind fellow who had no vision, you gave him sight and reason to live.            
Just as a fish can't forget to swim,  
just as a donkey itches to bray.
  His past at times calls him and he relapses.  
Two backslides you forgive,  then warn him.
Just like a bad *** that doesn't forget to ****.  
You argue with him on his fortieth relapse.  
Being the human being you are,  a child like him.  
You call it quits,  

Like a river drained of its water,  like a night stolen of its stars. Like a farm without its produce or a bee without its sting,  
he is.
He tries to stand, you were his feet.  Opens his mouth, your were his voice.
He tries to think you were his brain.
And looking at his heart, he has none.
And that's  ******* a man
Ma
What is friendship if it's just for PR,  what kind of friendship  if am a Prop. If your worst  you keep and your best you share,  then am just a cover friend,  ribbon to be seen and not a bolt to tighten.                                         Melon kind of friendship,  a political type of relation.  It's not for colleagues. Let our boundaries be marked level be known. Am just toe deep but you treat me as shoulder deep.  Now am weary  careful and dreadful.  We know and av known.  My status as know.
Melon friendship
Alex I:
Just human are humans,

If I had the power, I would make you an artery that every second of the day from my heart you would receive messages.
If you were a neurone then very thought and plan of my mind would be crystal clear.

Like a cloths i. Would put you on so that every now and then a hug would be.

But  frailty of humanity makes me available as I am right now in electronic space
Acc, humanity
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