was it not

was it not my purpose to fall in love with you
but to be happy, to taste your wildish passion,
the magic of a miracle you are, my storyteller,
the writer costumed as a soldier of the words
using the polychromic vestments of illusions
provoking me, confessing till I'm pouring down
amazing, for I hate you so much as I miss you

πŸ“–πŸ€πŸŒΏ

beautiful world

tell me something beautiful, she said, — (∂ + m) ψ

give‧me‧your‧fire‧give‧me‧your‧rain

i wonder

suddenly

please

and you, my love

Say