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

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