Love is being torn apart. Love is a cold, steel spike of agony that pierces the heart. Love is a fading memory of longing that leaves nothing but a wild ache and crashing waves of sorrow.
But that is love in the embrace of loss and cannot first arrive without the experience of that which is honest, immediate and perfect, true love.
Lost in love? Love lost? Love too weak or too strong, love undefined or defined by years, moments and minutes? Love in a memory, her face gleaming and haloed, a sun burst of aching longing, every second of every day. The price paid for the singular experience of knowing, for a certainty, the taste and sight of true love? Gladly.
Log
- EndlessWords
- West Seattle, Washington, United States
- I like to think I have grand and unifying ideas for stories, but in reality I just write about sunsets.
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