My little heart

Bumps into walls,

Drop things, and

Knocks on doors

Too hard.

Confused, she patters

Then picks up the pace;

Suprised by simple things,

Like kindness.

In love,

She ponders passionate


So much so, my brain reminds her

It is She who does the thinking.

Though in love,

Both are at a loss for words.

Still, its my heart who feels it the most,

The speechlessness,

The butterflies,

The heartache.

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