it's strange how love is.
it's strange how love can easily be defined by limited strings of constituents in a seemingly cogent manner when love itself is such an ineffable, abstruse concept.
it's strange how treasured moments that used to clog your heart can slip into memories that wring it dry and tear it apart.
it's strange how i love you
i gave you my heart. and you threw it away with your empty hands and broke it apart into more pieces than it was made of. i can't eat. i can't work. i can't sleep without having recurring nightmares. it was the only one thing i wanted so badly, to be loved, that is. and when i get it, everything falters. i couldn't possibly imagine being apart from you for days, much less months. and why must love be this abject?
sometimes when you love someone, you want to be and remain at the same pace as they are. i tried my best to catch up on you, but i didn't think you were proud of my running.
there are no non-extremes.