Love. Is that really such a strange concept?

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I mean what is love?

Summer nights and winding roads, the wind in your hair and everything smells like flowers. Oh Wonder murmurs out of the radio, a crushed soda can rattles at your feet, the rumble of the car on the road is lulling you to sleep. Your best friend is driving and humming along, your girlfriend is snoring against your boyfriend's chest, everything is glowing with morning dew and you smile to yourself as you close your eyes because this is home.

Or.

Brick walls against your back, grating into your flesh, neon lights and tight clothes and everything's in a haze of alcohol. Lips on your mouth, your jaw, your neck, bruises the colors of plums and black cherries. His stubble rubbing every inch of you raw and you can't get enough, you never want it to stop. Afterwards, he doesn't leave like the stories say. Afterwards, you go get ice cream and argue about movies and play with each other's fingers. You are not another one night stand. He is not going to break your heart.

Or.

Waking up in the middle of the night because your cat is sitting on your chest and it's hot and you want a glass of orange juice. And you look over and she's illuminated by moonlight, hair a halo of gold. And your cat glares at you before moving to curl up against her side and you just stare because they're both so beautiful, and they're yours, they're yours, and you're happy. You get up, tread down the hall of your house, stare at your succulents and your bookshelves and your mismatched furniture. You pour a glass of juice and sit cross-legged in the middle of the living room, not really looking at anything in particular. And she wakes up, comes over and sits in your lap and she's yours, she's yours, and you're never letting go.

Love's a bunch of multiple timelines playing in a constant loop in your head. You get the girl, you love the prince, you don't conform to society, you cut your hair and love yourself, you dream of worlds and write them, you get that tattoo that means something, you write that letter you've been avoiding for eight years, you smile, you smile, you smile. Because no matter the outcome, you end up happy.

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