I know not to write of love for it is pain i see. Hypocrisy, deception, and a game of want. For its what one wants one plays to get. There are seekers in this game, genuinely good persons who seek for a true story, but the true players don't play to win, they play to get what they want, leaving the seekers on the look out. I know not to write of love, this game of showing of. What have got to what you've got, lost in between are those that got nothing. A game of popularity and age. The eye is blinded to what it sees,the soul packed aside to not feel the guilt,and a thrown conscience to not feel how wrong it has become as long as the body gets what it wants. My hands knows not what to write for my mind will not participate in this lie, my heart feels for love for its slowly fading, scared of what tomorrow is gonna be. Scared of writing of pain and tears, of a seeker broken by a player who gets not crushed. Scared that I'll be no more wise in the knowledge of a true love. Scared i will join the seeker in finding that which is being pushed to extinction. Scared that the seeker will not know true when they find it. They'll not tell a lie from truth. I know not to write of love but speculations, what if,what is, how is it going to be. "When hurt in love,take it as a lesson learnt and if ever its a repeat,walk away no matter how much you think you will loose, do they not say that if its yours it will find its way to you? Don't hurt you and keep on hating for what you may do to yourself. "

Published by mary muema