There are certain things that we love. We love the taste of chocolate as it swirls around our tongue. We love the feeling of the Earth's cold rain as it melts into our skin and becomes a part of us. We love the feeling of hugs, and the warmth that washes over us when someone compliments us. We love long walks and warm mornings and stained letters and coffee cups that have been left on cluttered desks and we love the wine bottles that have been scattered across the room. We love flasks that are hidden in sock drawers. We love the way our lover makes us feel. We love the night's darkness that envelopes us like a cloak. We love the buildup, we love the burning passion. We love the way we feel when we connect with a song that was written by someone we will never meet. We love poetry and the undying appreciation of a home cooked meal. We love falling into our beds after a long day and curling up into our true selves. We love long nights and talks that change our life. We love and we love and we love until every single particle in our body has been given away to a particular someone or something else. We love and we love and we love until all of our purity to the world has been taken over, pushed to the side. We love so feverishly and we love with everything we have. We love and we love and we love until we have devoted our entire entity to an idea that never existed in the first place. We love and we love and we love until we burn out so fiercely that we can't remember a time when we weren't loving. A time when our fingertips didn't glow, a time when our numb lips didn't spark at the constant idea of an eternal and undying happiness. We love and we love and we love until there is nothing else that we can love. Nothing else that we can consume.
