Love isn't smooth — it's rough, it's real.
With backsteps, fear, the awkward touch.
Not marble, perfect and unreal —
But human, trembling, hurting much.
Like waves at night upon the shore:
They lick the stones, then pull away,
Then crash like thunder, then restore —
Then pause, afraid to overstay.
In endless hugs, in tender stares,
In careful words that taste like home.
In wanting you despite the dares —
But scared to burn, to end alone.
Not luck — but choosing every day
One person: «You. I choose you still.»
Not kindness in a formal way —
But rough, and warm, and truly real.
Rough Love
© Copyright: Евгеша Семёнова, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126060306563
Свидетельство о публикации №126060306563
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