Speaking Of Love

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Yesterday I spoke of love at least a dozen times. Was my heart returned? Nay, just empty whispers spoken in longing remorse of failure. I come to my senses and you flee from my awaiting arms. The statement women never know what they want  is amendable, but I disagree on the terms that women never know what they want till they’ve lost it. Somehow, in my master plan I referred to as my future, I pushed you out then lost you unintentionally. I extend my hand to you only to discover I’m holding it out to the future resentment that is beginning to build within my gut. LOVE ME! I beg collapsing to my knees, the aching bottomless pit feeling as my heart plunges down into my belly. In a ball I lay wrapped around myself, rotting from the inside out like leopardsy. What do I have to do to earn your love once more? What series of events must ensue so that I might realize the error of my ways and to succeed in attaining your affection once more?

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