Here's to love.
The way it was always "supposed" to be.
The way we remember it.
And the way we use the past to hinder possibilities of feeling it.
To the unrequited hero and the guardian angel.
To a best friend, to a worst enemy.
For every splinter that has pierced a heart.
For every ring that has embraced a finger.
For everything divine and everything distasteful.
This is the nightmare of a hopeless romantic.