Blacksoul Scribble#4

 I’m a hopeless lover but an equally terrible romantic.
He knew. I loved his hair, his laughter, his scent, his madness for driving, his obsessions, his flaws. Oh, how effortless it was to laugh with him! It was all beautiful – the way those black trousers hung from his hips, how he would grab me before he kissed,  and how wildly and teasingly he rode his Bike when I sat behind. I loved with all my body & soul, he knew it all.
I am a terrible romantic though, I could never show or tell. I don’t know why or what restrains me from doing the one thing lovers do – confess.
I am the girl who writes letters, who knows how he takes his beer, kisses him back with the same intensity, who knows how much he loves his bike, how his eyes light up at the sight of his friends, his obsession with anime’s, playing, every little detail of every single thing, his mad dance moves, his new shoe phase. I trembled at his staunch belief in God , I craved for his dark desires, I am the person who wouldn’t do anything extraordinary to prove my love. I would just love, endlessly, never asking for more, hardly complaining, never confessing how much I loved.
When I look at him, I see magic, the whole universe in him. Right that moment I knew I grew an addiction so strong that I would burn in rejoice of love, of his love, what I didn’t know was it wasn’t going to last because I didn’t tell him, didn’t show him how much I loved or how I loved.

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