"He man, what's up

A/N: The end


Some say you're in love when you stomach gets butterflies, I say that you've swung too high on a swing. Others define love as a feeling of euphoria, I say that you've taken one too many hits. Adults decide that love is a feeling of stability, but love shouldn't be a bomb shelter. Children think of love as princes on white ponies, but I never have.

"Do you regret it?" Emily asked.

They lay intertwined in the back seat with the silence of the city. For the city that never sleeps, 5 am is awfully still. The waves, which once lapped so gently, now roar against the rocks and the calamity of the cars ceased just before dawn.

"Regret what?" Alex replied.

"Everything. The sex, the drugs, the violence. The scars."

He paused. Alex knew the answer his mind had been screaming for months, yes, but something held him back.

Love is when nothing you have ever done matters anymore. You are truly loved when even the deepest scar is invisible, your greatest mistake unconsidered, and every word forgiven as it is spoken. Regret is so often the worry of appearance. What would society think of my mistake, my scar, my embarrassment? But love doesn't care. It shouldn't care.

"No. Nothing."