I always thought that love is madness,
Wrapped in blessings,
Ribbon tied with curse,
Poetry as greetings,
Written on a card heart stamped,
Pixie dusts and magic as glitters so you would glance.
You would glance.
Once.
And that is all it takes.








I always have been so sure that he is love.

He is love.

But the address written is not mine.