Maybe it's only war to me because I can see both sides. Every piece of me sees the fighting, yet it's not there. Almost like shit-talking instead of manning up. I'm sure we would both be proud enough to do so. I don't know anymore; I just see it. I can't define what doesn't exist to anyone but me. How could I even begin to explain what no one is to understand?
Maybe I was wrong. I believe that this was it, and in an instant, it's gone. Because she cares about me, and I never knew her without that.
How easily my wild heart be tamed. What soft, sweet songs be sung to soothe my sorrowed soul. How quite quiet quills be so quip with me. Only your truths may be so told as to trouble tired tapestries of tret. You get me going, wondering, thinking. And I can't stop pondering, dreaming,hoping, all about you.
'Sully sorrow spans slowly,
with wild words of wit written.
To troubling the times of tret,
but borrowed blood be not broken.'
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