Who am I to talk of love and its stories? I am no expert, I nurse no broken heart. I possess no knowledge of how to win or lose your love. I am just a woman, lonely perhaps, needing to stir up the calm surface of a lake, just because I feel like it.
Love and loss, and stories of heartache and wedded bliss; I've been through it all, and yet, I am still a novice, needing new angles. My stories are getting old, collecting dust, wearing the same shade disguised as variants. So, give me something to ponder about, something that will take my breath away and have me sit in a dreamy daze. Make me forget rush hour traffic, nosy office mates, stale overpriced lunches, and egos of the big heads who know how to profile cancerous cells but haven't got a clue about how to uplift an employee's morale.
Show me your vision of love, the sweet aftertaste it leaves on your tongue. Let me immerse in your desire, swelling like the tides of a late afternoon ocean. I wait for you to inspire. My fingers ache to compose beautiful fresh look of love.
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