I was still naive then, I had no idea how that childhood love for each other would grow into something so strong, something...that...burns and aches. As if you're being pulled under by the waves and the depths press against your chest, pushing out the air from your lungs. It's like drowning and the more you fall in love the more you're pained by the thought of losing him; and so the sea pulls you deeper and deeper into the blackest depths. It hurts the farther and farther you're pulled into the water, but the same thing that may be killing you is also the same thing keeping you alive- so you let it drag you under. It's not what Mother described love to be- it's not what anybody described love to be-it's not a pleasant feeling that fills your belly with butterflies. No, it's the weight of the sea crushing against your lungs and tossing you back and forth beneath it's waves. It's the calm before the storm and the storm in itself. And it hurts, but you let it hurt you. Because without it you know you wouldn't be the same, and you know that for the pain of love to cease, would mean the love itself would cease. And you can't live without this love. The mere thought seems impossible. So you welcome the hurt, you embrace it and it's not until he is safe again does the pain subside. But the moment he is away from home, the waves pull you under again and you struggle for air. That is what love feels like.