To be in love is a commodity, a luxury.

It is not necessary to be subservient to another, nor is it convenient.
Only fleetingly pleasurable.

Immensely so, perhaps the greatest indulgence conceived, but costly still.
Happiness is not defined by it.

To know when to allow yourself the privilege and when to let go is to be comfortable and confident in self, to allow affection to be a necessity is to be an addict, in the most mundane of ways.

Testament of a cynic.

Battle cry of the hopeful