This love hurts, my dear.
Love. What is love? No, I won't go on. You know what love is.
I do not wish to label my loves. I will not tie up and limit my loves in order to make you comfortable.
No, I will not tell you that this love is platonic or familial or romantic or physical. It is all love. Why should I specify? That only makes things worse.
Love. What is love?
YOU ARE READING
Default Title - The World Is My Own
PoetryTbh it'll be a bunch of different stuff. Short stories, poems, quotes, rants, opinions, art. Eh.
