Your secrets
Your desires
Your insecurities
Your evilness
Your goodness
Never got unraveled
Thus you remained as an onion
In my hands.

I read somewhere
'only those who care about you can hear you when you are quite'
So, in my inner mind I could recurrently hear
"Bloom"
Even though you are not pretty enough,
Even though you are not talented enough,
Even though you are not cool and chill
Just "Bloom"
Let them love you,
Let them hate you,
Let them break you,
Still, 'bloom'
Not to adore
To comfort
To love
Others
But
To adore
To comfort
To love
Yourself.

She found solace in him,
And she became his source of vexation.