Love, of all the emotions, is our favorite. For love, in itself, encompasses all other emotions. It can fill your heart to a hundred, and can empty it to a zero. Yet we still busy ourselves looking for it. When maybe, at this point in time, the only person that you have been waiting to love you, is yourself. For no one loves the misery in you, they only learn to love you in your miseries. Love is a bullet we always catch. It was a sword we let pierce through. It was poison we are addicted to. Love killed us, but it made us alive once again.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 11:09 PM UTC
Love, of all the emotions, is our favorite. For love, in itself, encompasses all other emotions. It can fill your heart to a hundred, and can empty it to a zero. Yet we still busy ourselves looking for it. When maybe, at this point in time, the only person that you have been waiting to love you, is yourself. For no one loves the misery in you, they only learn to love you in your miseries. Love is a bullet we always catch. It was a sword we let pierce through. It was poison we are addicted to. Love killed us, but it made us alive once again.
It was meant to be written this way. Contradicting.
Request permission to use this poem