It’s not love until it hurts. My heart boils and with little bursts, it grows wings that crave flight. I’m leaving the fight, against what might, work and not work. I’m setting myself free for you, take me entirely, love me selfishly, need me excessively and consume my sanity. I don’t exist in time with you, I find myself looking…but for no escape, just looking – admiring, wondering, seeking more & more of what might be pain. The worthy ache. An anxiety I want to let in.

It’s not love until it hurts.