#this is just brain fart from my polin brainrot

[notafangorl]

Some sort of Pen & Colin’s

I appreciate love. The intense kind, the soft kind and a definite favored kind.. the unexpected.

But through the many seasons that I have witnessed varying levels and vigor—

I have come to treasure the love that is there.

The very kind of love that seeped in one’s veins.

It is slumbering for one, quite melancholic for the other.

He had a particular fondness of her.

He recognised some of himself in her. She recognised some of herself in him.

She felt it first oh so joyfully! Her heart leapt when she gave it a name. Love.

She is, and possibly forever will be, in love with him.

Her heart won every time she felt him near, her head swayed in his direction.

She felt the butterflies’ never-ending flapping in her insides.

It is beautiful, it is precious, it was her first love.

She laughed melodically with his own.

If one was keen one would see that no doubt they are in love.

He knew that there may be a tune in harmony with her within him.

It was sadly smothered and pushed aside for another.

Only… to be ignited by a jilt. A constant turning into an occasionally and then sometimes and then a blatant snubbery.

All took place for all to be well.

All went well with mutual reprieve and yes there’s still love.

Waiting to be acknowledged.

It was a nod. He gave it a name. Love.

It roused and all the yearning suddenly satiated.

It is beautiful, it is precious, she was his first love.

You see, a love that is always there—well nurtured by ease of togetherness is often shelved in disregard.

But to me, it is in some way kind of romantic to think that two people can find themselves in each other.

Alike in many at the same time differing.

When did I start needing you so much?