No, cry like the rain.
Don't define soul. I've read somewhere that to define is to limit. And we are limitless, after all. But only in the soul; Oh! And in love! How can I forget Love? When that is what prevents me from leaving?
I'll be right here, or I'll go away, depending on how loudly you tell me to leave...
I'll hand you some tissues before I go, of course.
And lend you a smile. The one you now know better than your favourite song; your favourite obsession.
You're beautiful. No Rose can compare. But then again, flowers are lovely and colourful in a very different way than humans (duh).
Like how skies are mesmerizing and vast in a different sense to music.
You don't shine like gold. You're not made of metal. You're strong, but not in a brittle way.
The hands of others cannot touch your moon-tanned being.
Only souls can.
And I can: when it rains and when tears spill.
You're not a Rose.
You're not made of gold.
And you cry too little to be the rain.
Yet somehow I love you more than them all. I could have all those three words in any and every order and life is still dead without you.
I'm gonna start carrying a pack of tissues from now on.
Editor: V R Kapse