I want to imagine that love feels like less of a pressure on the heart threatening to burst, than embers floating on woven baskets set out in high tide. I want to experience the feeling of waking up next to love on a fog painted fall morning in October. Yet, I am afraid I'll be too busy to face the pain threshold that has been thoroughly peeked, in the absence of armor to protect this fragile heart. I want to imagine love as my best friend from the second grade who wore a purple sweat suit and sang 'London's bridge is falling' while telling me she saved a cookie for me. I want to have a conversation with love and ask which of its faces is the one to be trusted and before the answer I want to yell "because I've seen the joy and the sorrow!" And still... I want to imagine love as sitting on a park bench next to someone who I'd spend every heartbeat with.