Love is, not was and what should have been. The soft light of internal solitude and fatigue attempts to pierce the patience of our seasons past. The coming winter rains of despair and chills of remorse have the very real possibility of turning to ice. Unless, you search deep within the desert of your soul and thirst for the warmth of true love’s kiss. Wrapped around another’s lips lies the visceral verity that the cold damp winter days will come to an end. And the luminous rise of pure bliss awaits in the simple summer of a kiss. Love is. Not was or what should have been. OOOOUUUUTTTT #Froglogic #PoetWarrior#Trueloveisreal #changingseasons

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