Love is a paradox.

Like a beating river of tears and joy, fear and certainty, hate and passion, it is love that makes us crazy. Like a spinner’s wheel, what goes around comes around. You are a new person, a stranger in the mirror with a smile in place. Is that always there? Now there’s another side to you, another half, another hand to steady your shaking arm. Your shivering shoulders. Your beating heart. What is this that comes in a dream, a sweet feeling filling your veins with pure, untainted passion and want? You want. You feel. Agony, that which you cannot break from. They’re always there.

Always.

Never alone. It’s not all right to be yourself anymore. But everything’s all right. And so you’re trapped, buried in the very arms that keep you warm. Keep you safe. They refuse to let go, pulling tighter and tighter, a tingle of pain and pleasure all at once. You can’t breathe. You can feel their blood rushing and you no longer feel. You’re no longer yourself. You’re no longer. Smile’s in place. A grand ol’ time. And you’re afraid. Afraid of losing this feeling, this excitement. Afraid of losing them. Afraid of this stranger that has entered your life, your mind. Afraid of them. Afraid of yourself. Wanted paranoia.

Love. It changes.

Fear and loss and revival. It never ends. And if it does, its former memory is erased. Forever. That’s how long it was supposed to last. But somewhere along the road, the dark, untaken road, something changed. Something tied and something snapped. An everlasting chain of broken strings, broken hearts, and broken lives. But the thrill… it’s always worth the sacrifice.

Because somehow, it makes sense.

Love. Those who don’t have it want it, and those who have it, fear it.