She just like any other person demanded love,
And just like every other story, it could never be enough.
We desire to be loved,
Making it the pinnacle of our dreams,
failing to recognize the curse in disguise,
looking for the exact kind we have it conceived.
But soon it hit her,
No one can love her the way she wants to be loved.
For that is the truth,
The love we want is the love we can build ourselves.
Love is the purest form of rain,
and Her being a Pluviophile loved it.
She is in love with the idea of love,
Admiring the actual beauty in the world.
There are things more precious than
This so called idea of love.
Loving oneself is the key to overcome,
This temporary need to be loved.
For with the ferocity you can love yourself,
No one ever would.