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I loved her so much that, instead of flowers,
I gave her a book, full of colours.
Its pages vibrate with dreams and laughter,
each word dances, each phrase divises.
Flowers, though beautiful, are ephemeral,
with time they wither, they become light.
Their petals fall, fade in the wind,
but an eternal book keeps the feeling.
In it, my whispers, engraved in ink,
stories of loves that the soul needs.
Each chapter, a corner of the heart,
verses that resound like a sweet song.
I loved her so much that, instead of offering
a bouquet of roses that might fall,
I gave her a book that would show in her gaze
a vast universe, a world without equal.