She stared at him as he meandered through the garden;
This was not love,
Merely attraction in full bloom,
Much like that of the glow-bugs flying
around lit lanterns.
He crouched to wipe off the fallen
dewdrops on his shoe;
This was not love,
Simply pure curiosity,
As when Adam was given Eve after days
of solitude.
Laughing, he would tuck his curls
behind his ear;
“This is not love”,
She would whisper to herself,
As though the numbers would pile up
like sand in a desert.
He runs up to her to embrace her as his
heart paced;
This was not love,
Which was the lie she would live with
as her mantra,
Until the day she opened up to the
world.
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