Love is a myth that women insist is true.
Love is what some people think only exisists in the fairy tales that your mother would read to you when you were little.
Love creates the doodles on my history notes, dreaming in solemn silence to the sweet sound of his last name after mine.
Love is the rain cloud that is coming to rain on my parade.
Love can build you up, then knock you right back down, like the twin towers.
But the only person who can walk away from the wreckage and massacre is you and your mending heart that will heal someday.