The odd thing about love is the ease in which it engulfs you.
You can easily find yourself an expatriate of your isolated experiences.
It is beautiful - to exist in a world of your fond choosing, with a love who cherishes every moment with you.
It is deluding.
It ends.
In its end,
it is disappointing.
Love feels like standing on the edge of a cliff - a cliff sufficiently masked with fog - and jumping, hoping a safety net is at the bottom.
In my leap, love broke every piece of me;
Love suffocated me.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
The odd thing about love is the ease in which it engulfs you.
You can easily find yourself an expatriate of your isolated experiences.
It is beautiful - to exist in a world of your fond choosing, with a love who cherishes every moment with you.
It is deluding.
It ends.
In its end,
it is disappointing.
Love feels like standing on the edge of a cliff - a cliff sufficiently masked with fog - and jumping, hoping a safety net is at the bottom.
In my leap, love broke every piece of me;
Love suffocated me.
