the broken poet | slow updates

two; stuck in love

I saw her.

Standing there, innocent and grace and the people were in envy by that.

She was a one of a kind out of a dozen in a crowd.

It didn't matter if she was smarter than you, had a clearer view of how you see the world, poetry flowed through her like flowers blossom in a dusky spring morning.

With her loving me made things better- in fact, it made me feel alive again, knowing their was someone or something that loved me for me.

It was 1 in a million.