She is A Stranger..

Love comes with her expectations. She is a flower of her own; not pink, not Red, and thus she grows and blossom to what she wants, not what the lovers yearns. Sometimes to kissing under the pine when the moon is low and the winds fair. Sometimes to painful silence, though the heart badly and madly longs, love just don’t want to be held.
Yet most of the times, she’s just a passerby; she comes with smiles, full, young, tender and exciting, you shoot the only arrow in your quiver, only for her to find warmth in the cottage of your neighbor.
She is done and gone, sweet words pleases her not anymore. She is done and gone, waste not you ink on love poems. She is done and gone, sing love songs no more, for lyrics ain’t her taste these days. She is done and gone, you’ll never hold her. You’ll never have her, she is done and gone.
Be careful, when you want to fall in love, for love is a rose with more thorns than we’re will to accept, and you might just land on hers.
Love is strange, and so is she.

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