I think I love her, she makes my blood boil and my heart skip a beat. She has rich berry red lips, a sunset smile, deep rightly placed dimples and dark raven eyes that are angel-like, correctly placed in their sockets you could watch the stars in them. Purely dark hair flowing smoothly down onto her shoulders and an extremely African curvy architecture.
I feel the butterflies in my stomach when I am with her. She treats me like a prince and she gives me her whole.
She is jealous, but she never checks my phone, she is insecure because all ladies are but she trusts me even with her fragile heart pumping organ.
She is a masterpiece, any man would want to have her even for just a minute but she is mine, I am her man and she is my lady.
Few of my friends know her, others don’t want me to have her, I don’t know why.
She makes the world come to life when she smiles, and when she speaks, my ears listen with ultimate attention.(not to miss a thing)
Her smooth cozy touch sends inpulses down my spine, and her giggle sets me on fire.
I think I can’t feel my face when I am with her, but I love it, I actually crave for it. She is that spark, the light at the end of the tunnel, with everlasting beauty and glorious features.
But only, she is not the only one.
Is this love?