Words are but words.
I am where I was 48 hours ago. Things aren't looking good lately. The clutch looms above me. Take a shot, creep. You did. How funny it must have been, when I closed my eyes and turned my back. You did nothing but shrug. Wow. Another victory, another defeat. Congratualtions, I'm sorry. And it happens. And it still does.
Love hurts. It must. If it doesn't, then it's potentially another cheap imitation of lust. How deadly, your snarl. Your schrewd intentions. Your sense of humour. Your maroon layered fingernails. I give it to you. You win.
Love hurts because what we want isn't love. We want the cheap imitations. We want a life of sin. We want everything you are not. That's why it stings whenever we feel your love. Love hurts so deeply, it makes us bleed. It makes us human, makes us fragile and cold and needy. That's when love fulfills its function. Its divine nature. Its unfathomable character. If love was a person, she would have been dead by now. Because it hurts too much to live. For you so loved, you died.
Have I loved at all? If I have given nothing, I would not have. An apathetic coming of being. The creepy crawl down the tunnel. I see nothing but a network of veins and muscles, shrouded in purple light. Give me one more day to figure it all out. 48 hours to the beach, 48 hours to the bottom, and 48 hours to the centre of the earth.
Walk. If I shut one eye, he walks. If I shut both, he wastes me away. An open cage is no cage at all. Fly away then, and not turn back. The clouds dissolve into a scented rain that irrigates the tiniest souls. The water cycle is complete.
Love hurts. Love works. Love saves. Love prevails. Take a little bit of love and see it flourish into so much more. How I wonder what you are.
Taste it, for it is good.
I am where I was 48 hours ago. Things aren't looking good lately. The clutch looms above me. Take a shot, creep. You did. How funny it must have been, when I closed my eyes and turned my back. You did nothing but shrug. Wow. Another victory, another defeat. Congratualtions, I'm sorry. And it happens. And it still does.
Love hurts. It must. If it doesn't, then it's potentially another cheap imitation of lust. How deadly, your snarl. Your schrewd intentions. Your sense of humour. Your maroon layered fingernails. I give it to you. You win.
Love hurts because what we want isn't love. We want the cheap imitations. We want a life of sin. We want everything you are not. That's why it stings whenever we feel your love. Love hurts so deeply, it makes us bleed. It makes us human, makes us fragile and cold and needy. That's when love fulfills its function. Its divine nature. Its unfathomable character. If love was a person, she would have been dead by now. Because it hurts too much to live. For you so loved, you died.
Have I loved at all? If I have given nothing, I would not have. An apathetic coming of being. The creepy crawl down the tunnel. I see nothing but a network of veins and muscles, shrouded in purple light. Give me one more day to figure it all out. 48 hours to the beach, 48 hours to the bottom, and 48 hours to the centre of the earth.
Walk. If I shut one eye, he walks. If I shut both, he wastes me away. An open cage is no cage at all. Fly away then, and not turn back. The clouds dissolve into a scented rain that irrigates the tiniest souls. The water cycle is complete.
Love hurts. Love works. Love saves. Love prevails. Take a little bit of love and see it flourish into so much more. How I wonder what you are.
Taste it, for it is good.
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