Why do we tears petals off of flowers and contemplate love? He loves me.
Why do we tear clothes off of strangers and contemplate love? He loves me not.
Why do we tear into lobsters and steaks over candlelight and cloth and contemplate love? He loves me.
Why do we tear out our hearts to expose them and interrogate them and contemplate love? He loves me not.
I guess when we think about love, it becomes a destructive force. Sometimes we throw our hearts like emotionally explosive hand grenades, filled with blood, these lovely petals are ready to burst, and I'll get damaged first.