Whispers Of Night
The birth of a flower
If I had a petal for every time someone
pretended to love me, and lied to me
(your truth is always half lie)
I'd be swimming in an ocean of roses!
believe me when I tell you..
darling, love is nothing but scarcity!
except when 'I love you' becomes a drug.
In the end, every flower has its own story
alike love, it only grows for glory..
and without being sorry,
tries to write its own blazing destiny!
behind the ruins of nightfall,
defying the odds, those changing souls,
the burning candles of a new-found love!
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
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