Do not tell me what love is,
and what love is not.
They say love is like butterflies in your stomach,
like two halves of a whole,
but, at least to me, that's not what love is.

Love is not a perfect movie romance,
it is raw, it is powerful,
it is real.
Love is a natural disaster; a tsunami of emotions destroying everything in it's path,
it's a war filled with bombs, sacrifice and pain but somehow you still continue the battle.
Love is not a walk in the park at sunset,
it is the tugging of hair and the smell of sweat in the air as you moan into each other's mouths,
it is the moments you ought to feel vulnerable as you lie naked chest to back but all you feel is security,
it is the anger and the tears and raised voices because you never expected to feel so desperately and wholly completed by someone else.

Love is not sweet,
unless you love the taste of sugar-coated *******.
Love is an unexplained wrenching in your chest,
a thousand tears shed and a million more to come,
aching, unbearable lust that makes you hate yourself more than insults ever could

but, at least to me, it's worth it.

One day when this is all over,
I'll take you to Paris.
We can walk over bridges with our fingers intwined and talk about how funny it is that things weren't always perfect between us.
We'll laugh because it seems ridiculous that once upon a time,
we weren't happy together and we shed blood and tears over the feel of our lips on the other's.

One day when this is all over,
I'll tell you how much you've always meant to me.
How you brought me out of the dark and taught me how to shine a light and find the way out,
and even though I left you half way and when you finally escaped you stole my light for your own,
I still loved you.

At least,
that's what I tell myself to get to sleep at night.
I know there won't be a one day,
there won't ever be an us again.
I made sure of that the day I left you in the dark without a light,
but now the memory of that bright, shining warmth that you brought into my life is the only thing that stops me from being consumed all together.

The taste of your name on my lips,
Like sweet roasted chestnuts on autumn walks in the park,
Like the tang of ***** on my tongue in bars filled with strangers,
Thinking of you,
and how no matter what your name tastes like,
it will never be as good as tasting you.