Dear Love,
Somehow I'm still addicted to you.
Even after,
all the mind games, the heartbreaks, the pain.
I don't know what it is about you,
but the good always seems to outweigh the bad--
no matter how much bad there is.

It's those rare moments,
moments of love,
that we all strive for.
Hoping to catch the slightest glimpse of it,
just to make our day, our week, our year.
We try so hard to grab onto that feeling,
that sometimes we don't know what we want more.
True love? Or just the feeling of it without commitment?
That's what makes it so rare, so special, so hard
to distinguish from infatuation and lust.
Those things are delicate,
but real love is powerful.

It's what holds through death, sickness, and disaster.
It'll be there under all the fights and words of hate,
and times when you want nothing to do with it.
True love is dangerous,
it has the power to ***** you over, crush you, break you.

The rarest form of love
is the kind that no one understands.
Other people don't have to agree with it,
to know it's real.
The fact that it can be there,
without being broadcasted to the world,
is something only true love evokes.
True love means
only the two crazy people in love, get it.
Because honestly,
It's not for anyone else to understand.