Todger65
Usually Horny
- Joined
- Nov 25, 2013
- Posts
- 31,097
When I was young,
I looked at everything
Without this skeptical eye.
Books I read became other worlds
Where I could escape reality,
Notebook paper became intricately folded
Notes between friends,
And flowers became barometers
For whether a crush was also interested.
He loves me,
He loves me not.
I would peel a petal and recite,
Back and forth until all that was left
Was the yellow center,
The final petal telling me the truth
About what was in someone else’s heart.
He loves me...
...He loves me not.
Now I’m older physically,
And I usually know better mentally,
But sometimes I pick a flower victim
To start pulling petals off of...
...He loves me...
And think the words in my head
As I cast each aside
He loves me not.
Like an unnecessary emotional roller coaster
Only one person really knows the answer to.
He loves me?
Now I know better,
And logic helps along with the little things
He does to quell the doubts.
He loves me not?
But still, when I find myself
With a handful of fresh-picked daisies...
https://forum.literotica.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=2073629&stc=1&d=1561372725
Who doesn’t do this. I’ve done it from being a child and still do it now and again, and have been teaching the grandkids the same.