Dear Love,

Dear Love,

Hi, I think we met a few times before. 

You're so very confusing and take many different forms.

Regardless of our acquaintanceship your still a bit foriegn.

I met you again last year, you were in one of your nicest forms.

You wore black pants and a black shirt.

You were tall, goofy, had curly hair, and were very warm.

You left me though, while I was in a vunerable state. 

Soon I met a new friend, who's name is Hate.

Your so sweet and I miss your taste. 

My heart skipped a beat on our first date.

The first time you kissed me was in the rain.

It was soft and a quick peck that left me in pain.

The tears I shed for you are produced from the very same rain.

I have a single question for you, 

Dear love, 

What's your real name?

This poem is about: 


Genevive Heymann

Beautiful poem, a idea that comes in all forms doesn't need a name for it will change it if it recieves one.

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