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#romanticelement
Love is a flower that seems to have this sort of sour. A sort of dull, but sweetness that lingers. Here I am dancing with the singers. You bloom as the music is in you. Then you fall as the music turn to blues—Are you a moon? Are you swayed by the night as it passes with the swiftness light? As you spin around—Am I not the fool that is spinning in you? Am I not—Am I not—Enough! Love is a flower that grows and grows. It grows so much it hurts. It hurts so much—It’s love! Is love supposed to hurt? Your rosey vine with many sharp thorns— I must be careful of those who are torn— They sway and they sway— I  will not be swayed away. I will not—And I will not—love like a flower.
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Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
Blacklilac
Amour is a flower.
Love is a flower that seems to have this sort of sour. A sort of dull, but sweetness that lingers. Here I am dancing with the singers. You bloom as the music is in you. Then you fall as the music turn to blues—Are you a moon? Are you swayed by the night as it passes with the swiftness light? As you spin around—Am I not the fool that is spinning in you? Am I not—Am I not—Enough! Love is a flower that grows and grows. It grows so much it hurts. It hurts so much—It’s love! Is love supposed to hurt? Your rosey vine with many sharp thorns— I must be careful of those who are torn— They sway and they sway— I  will not be swayed away. I will not—And I will not—love like a flower.
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