My love is the thorn on the red, red rose

I am nothing, if not Intensity in person. And I’m bored now.

Do I fall in love out of boredom? Do I feel things because they’re plain entertainment? Alright, you were right then.

If love were a poem, I’d be an ode to your being.

If love were a song, I’d be a serenade to you.

If love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist.

If love were a banquet, I’d be a casuality of gluttony.

If love were a bottle of vinegar, I’d be pickled in it.

If love were haute cuisine, I’d be tender meat stewed in its juices.

If my love were a letter, it would be silent.

If my love were a word, it would be misspelt.

If my love were a sentence, it would be self-referential.

If my love were a question, it would be rhetorical.

If my love were a language, it would be Braille.

If love were a disease, it would be my the cancer in my cells.

If love were only enough, I’d be the answer to all the world’s questions.

I only wish it had been a shot of cyanide. I’d have been dead with a smile on my lips. But there is life. There is also an empty glass in my hands. I’m waiting.

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