7 December 2012
Between love and hate there is a fine line, that’s what they say,
And I believed them not, in my foolish days,
Disbelief that the luscious rose could cripple and wilt,
That the sturdy walls could crumble, those walls that we built,
But time is evil and she knocked them down,
She distinguished my smile; she made it a frown,
And although this is something that we berate,
Slowly, but surely, love turns into hate.
The Walls • Opuss № I