Oh Love, what have you on me? I do not deserve you, yet you said that nothing could ever take me away from you.

Oh Love, is your memory poor? Can you not remember how I emptied your heart dry? How I stole it away. How I took it with my two hands. And how I ripped it to shreds. I was selfish. I didn’t mean to do it. Or probably I did mean it, because I still do do it, even though I don’t want to. Or probably my human heart does. I really don’t know.

Oh Love, I do not deserve you. How you want me does not make sense at all. You are the embodiment of absolute perfection. I am the personification of perfect imperfection. How could you still say that your love is for me?

Oh Love, do know that I am but a jolly beggar sitting at your feet. You are a person of infinite beauty. I am a fatally flawed creature wired to fail. You are of infinite richness. I am but a symbol of poor finiteness.

Oh Love, I do not even deserve to write about you, nor even think about you. As far as the east is from the west , so is the distance between the difference of our qualities. My words do not do you justice. All the words in the world cannot do you justice. Yet, you still allow me to think, talk, and write about you. Oh Love, how kind could you be?

Oh Love, if I’d be a fool to die for you, then please let me be called a fool for life. Truly, what else can I do? Where else can I run? You are my only hope.

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