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This Love.
Why are we doing this too ourselves?
Why,
After everything that has happened?
Because…
I love her.
I love her to the point I don’t want to love anyone else.
I want to marry her.
I want to grow old with her.
I want to be happy with her.
And I am happy.
Most of the time…
Sometimes my head fucks with me.
It makes me overthink things.
I want to shut it up.
But I can’t,
So I live with it,
Ignoring it.
But ignoring it doesn’t work sometimes.
When it doesn’t,
It gets bad.
But I know,
I hope,
That she loves me.
I trust her.
It’ll be okay,
It will.
This poem is about:
Me