according to you, love doesn’t like hot weather and sweaty palms and cheap beer it doesn’t hear any orchestras or go to any movies and buy popcorn and soda and defintely does not agree to feed the birds at the park pieces of a leftover subway sandwich
according to him, love does not fancy astrology or icecream sandwiches and it never gets it’s body wet ( let alone it’s hair) in the swimming pool at a party it was never invited to
according to the anonymous love likes to sit love likes to smoke love likes to watch reruns of all the television shows your mom had a digusting addiction to
it loves boring routines; the 9 to 5 and it doesn’t mind being mentally drained and unprepared for any emotional stability
but according to me love just likes to hide in peoples clothes, in lacy underwear and size 32 jeans
it likes pretending it’s not there and it enjoys convincing you, it is
not
but no matter what is said; there is an undeniable light in that room, as he slides his body over yours weightlessly in the dark and it starts in your stomach— escapes through your mouth and it becomes the moon above the both of you
take my advice here— always look for it before it notices you doing so and completely disappears
because love isn’t half as bad as it’s been told to be