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SexySloth Dec 2013
Love - it does not necessarily mean romance, or
silly, promised-filled, tragedies like Romeo and Juliet's,
or shallow, innocent love of teenagers, who are just starting to experience
what it's like and want to know more;

Love can mean the kind you feel for people
you care about, like your parents,
your siblings, your friends...
People whom you'd love unconditionally.
And those people probably love you back
despite your flaws and endless mistakes,
they'd forgive you
and sometimes,
they try to help you get on the right path
and correct those flaws so that
You become a better person.

But what does loving a stranger mean?
Isn't that how we all came to be?
Your mother loved a stranger, and got you.
Her mother loved a stranger and loved your grandfather,
and his father loved a stranger, your great-grandmother...

This beautiful cycle of loving strangers begins our time on Earth.

How do you know that you love a stranger?
Firstly, you might think that their fingers are rather bony
and maybe they way they stand are a little odd,
and the way they walk make you cringe inside 'coz it's awkward?
And their hair is a little too long, when they say a joke,
their lips curl up at the top and their eyes flit upwards
and you feel so uncomforable looking at them.
                     Slowly, you realise though...
after talking to them a little more,
becoming better acquaintances,
and then friends,
you don't notice those 'flaws' anymore (they were never things I should criticise in the first place)
In fact, you start to love them, and like it when they do that.
It's a unique part of them that you want to keep seeing.
You feel guilty and sorry for even hating them in the first place,
because afterall, they are beautiful!

            Lastly, when you depart,
you know you really love them because
           you'll miss those tiny details even more
since you're never going to see those lovely beauties again.
*(Oh, how I regret not fully appreciating them!)
Amelia Mar 2014
They are my least favorite color
There arent any shoe laces
The are extremely uncomforable
The sole is coming out
They are covered in mud
They were found in the trash
he felt uncomfortable in his tidy pink jacket

too hot for the day



he always felt uncomfortable

anxious about doing, wearing

the right thing



he pushed his glasses into a better

position; they had steamed

his shadow long in the lowering sun



though he had the beautiful invitation

had accepted, packed & travelled to his



friend’s place



he felt awkward



brown leather shoes  worn with socks

& regret; his slacks  high, neat at the



waist





he had always fretted over  appearance

what to pack, how to prepare



hours staring the mirror considering his

shape. sticky taping every hair, each dust

mote

from the fabrics

the obsession



he counted the trees, moved to the water

to hail his friend



stood dizzy poolside

his friend was only wearing white pants



he died inside

&



as ever felt uncomforable



( thank to d.hockney – the inspiration, the picture)

— The End —