A clap of thunder should be but a whisper compared to our kiss, the crack of lightning but static when held in comparison to our touch.
Life should be but a game, where mediocrity is parallel to fame, and others should be nothing, when compared to you and I.
So what is the reason that our bodies commit such treason and do not live to the expectations we have drawn?
Is life such a lie, are we but such pawns that this dream we have is not but a fantasy?
I believe we may be fools, who fish for whales in shallow pools when it comes this love that we try so hard to sell.
One day we must try to kindle this fictional fire again, allow ourselves some reprise from our pires to dip into that delightful sin, may life be to us sweet, and be to us fine, we shall be much better liars in the next time.
And so we are liars, what great lovers we will make, for all love is a lie, it is just sometimes hard to fake, its not the lie to the other that is hard, its the lie to your own mirror that leaves such scars.
But do not fret, my dearest, my sugar, my love, for we shall be the greatest lying lovers, here, below, or above.