Love.

It recently came to my attention that through all of my hateful outbursts of rage against the notion of love, I never actually wrote anything on the intoxicating aroma which love blesses us with. As such, here goes.

 

The feeling you get when your eyes meet, if only for a second, and the mutual agreement of emotion sent through the air is love.  The feeling when your hands accidentally graze and though you know it wasn’t really intended, it feels like the cosmos giving you green light to sink all your emotions into them, that’s love. The feeling when you talk and you can’t seem to notice time flying straight past as your conversation flows with ease, filled with laughter and the dread of the talk ever getting silenced – the feeling where you never want to stop being around that person – is love.

It makes a person drunk and yet so much wiser. It changes a person while making them more themselves than they’ve ever been.

That’s love.

It’s perfect and amazing, and only a fool would refuse it’s warm grasp.

Right?

 

 

There’s two sides to love. The aftermath is the side you only find once it’s all over.

The aftermath is toxic and gut-wrenching, leaving you with nothing but the dreadfully lonely room where your heart used to live. The aftermath makes one a sycophant for emotional investment, begging for that high they felt beforehand. The aftermath makes a person drunk. The aftermath changes a person.

The aftermath is necessary for acceptance. There must always be dark for there to be light, after all. The aftermath paves the path for your next love-filled mission, should you choose to accept it. But be honest with yourself,

only a fool would refuse love’s warm grasp.

right?