Love love love
Ours is like withered flowers
Because whenever I see my dark circles
Or freshly painted bruises spreading over my canvas
I see violets blooming //
Love love love
Ours is like licking flames
Because whenever I look into your eyes
Or feel the warmth of your touch leaving burn marks
I remember who painted me //
Love is not *love at all
And I guess I'm beginning to see
That violet is your favorite color
And I am your masterpiece //
~a.p