the complicated art of being in love

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I am a hopeless romantic. I fall in love with everything, from photographs of cities to people on the train. I fall in love so easily and so plentifully. I develop hopeless, meaningless crushes on people for a few minutes- months at a maximum. And it's never deep enough for me to think about it more than once a day.

I fall in love with boys and girls and everyone in between. I fall in love with big houses and small houses and the idea that there is life inside of them.

I fall in love with cigarette smoke and ashes. Trees and leaves and sunlight. Everything.

But I also fall out of love like it's nobody's business. Commitment is foreign to me. If anyone is to try to break down my walls, they'd better bring a bulldozer.

That's why I was frightened when someone found the key to the eternally bolted doors. I didn't think another soul could intrude on mine.

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