'Tis better, they say, to have loved and lost than to have never
Truly
Loved at all.
To love in a way that fans a fire in your soul the likes of which no forest on earth, no volcano on mars
Has ever experienced.
And why love at all?
At the end of every path there's a giant elm tree sticking its bitter head out of the soft, white ground as you coast the ups and downs holding tightly to the reigns
Trying vainly to steer.
There's red in her hair.
And red in the snow beneath you. Around you. Inside of you. Coming from you.
Because.
'Tis better to risk your life to be with her forever than to live in the silence of creaking floorboards
With living martyrs wrapped in wrinkles and pale eyes always on you.
To die.
Together.
Because of love than to live with anything else.
Often you lose. But that's why it's a risk.