Maybe love isn’t all red roses and butterflies in the stomach

Maybe it’s screaming at each other on the top of our voices yet staying the same altogether.

Maybe love isn’t in the gifts and the costly dinners,

Maybe it’s in the books that we read while sipping coffee together

And maybe love isn’t at all what they tell us in those movies and those novels,

All hearts and fairytale-like romances.

Maybe it’s harsh and hard and full of tears,

Not only the smiles but also the fears,

Not only beautiful flowers but also the thorns.

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