By Alia Gupta
She was thirteen.
She didn't know what love was.
She had heard about it.
Might have seen it.
So, she searched for it.
But a child, whose parents don't
Love, experience she won't
Because when two souls aren't entwined,
How can their child have love defined?
All she gets is a guess. A guess at love.
And it becomes the most fascinating thing.
She knew love was never about the ring.
That; she'd heard. She'd also seen.
As the cursed child she had been.
So she wondered. But never had the courage to ask,
To ask herself, her heart, was a most horrifying task
And she'd think she'd find love, someday.
Sooner or later, she would; she had to, right?
But as she begged Aphrodite for love,
For the way of life as gentle as a dove,
For whom she'd do anything for,
Just pure, sweet love. No allure.
She realised she had it.
It was her.
Love had never been unknown, it had never been fascinating;
For it was with her all the time. From dawn to dusk, afternoon to evening;
It was her. She found love within her.
And the next time she looked at herself,
Proud she felt. Affectionate she was.
And that, was the love she yearned for,
The purest form of magic, the one she craved for more
By Alia Gupta
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