there's a hidden romantic in us all brimming with ideas waxing poetic sing me a tune bouquet of roses walks on the beach lightly traced fingertips promises made
it will all eventually die and after that, what's left? feigned sentiments the endless pursuit chasing those butterflies the wings will eventually crumble hopes are dashed love will perish and you are back to square one
searching in all the wrong places blinded by niavete the fire of passion fueled by cursory impressions will always diminish however - the flames of absolution will be true and everlasting leaving a rapturous trail in its wake