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.