Everything about us was electric. From the moment we met, shy eyes peeking past the people that separated us, it was like falling through the sky. Topsy turvy and clutching hands and flipping stomachs. We touched each other like we might never have another night, tip toeing around words like forever. We only understood this moment, that moment. Here, now. But we called it love, and those moments never drifted too far.
    
Electric. Late nights of too much ***** and other lonely souls that smoked with us in silence and skin that screamed for more and more and more. But mouths that screamed, too. At one another because that boy looked at me for too long, and you forgot your credit card again, and commitment was a word you never understood. Screaming for more and more and more. More than this and that and here and now. Blood rushing from our hearts to our heads as we fell and fell and fell through the sky. Love, we called it. As if a four letter word could keep us from crashing.
    

But it took me a long time to realize that love isn’t falling. Or crashing. Or electric. It isn’t uncertainty and pain and being so scared you forget why you jumped in the first place. No, love isn’t falling at all; it's landing