Is this fiction?
The waking dream becomes a reality that unfolds into such lovely things that surround my daily life. It oozes with complacency, security, with no fear, and no demands. There is no need to ask as all given, even before I ask. With the needs met, what is there to do but become content?
That is the love. It is thoughtful. It does not neglect. It is a step ahead. It was there on time. On call anytime. Is there ahead of time—fights the battles through time and goes for the win.
Trust me; it's something I didn't know existed.
In this life filled with trivial pursuit games, blinding baits, misleading ploys, and those alluring romance trysts, it all gets nullified by that one that truly loves me.
Looking back, it does develop, building blocks of sincerity, and then it one day unfolds to that comfort level that states, here are seeds, to make these grow. And, in wonderment, the statement remained unanswered, yet with the hope of more to propagate for the future.
Interesting. In retrospect, there is no need for anyone else except for the one who loves me.
There are soliloquies written in the pain of many a love spoken and the tales of neglect, lack of many things, and broken promises. This love does not fail me. There are no hopes that are not fulfilled. No promises that have failed.
My heart is still.
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