since day one i've learned the art of self-love—before you, there was i. i am not a product of warmth and sweet afternoons but i learned to grow under the scorching heat. i am made of every good particle designed to stand the weight of the sun. and what i want you to know, that since the beginning, i possess fire inside me—self-love is what i feed my heart that when it flows in my veins it makes me light up.
somedays you'd call me a flower. my beauty will fade after a hundred season but my heart—is a giant oak tree. my veins are rooted six feet below where our love is buried. you don't have to water me with lies. my trunk is capable to wait for the strong rain to come and bathe me. i don't need the butterflies, i've got birds on my branches to sing me lullabies. and i won't be needing the care of your hands, the universe is enough to create a forest with me.
and to the nights you call me a dream come true, let it stay that way. let our love be a song our hearts sung in a forgotten dream. —𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑.
