I once knew what it feels like to lose myself in the fantasy that is Love
My thoughts would be filled only with her, her smile, her touch, her everything
I’d lose track of time staring at her and be satisfied that my eyes could drink in such beauty
My world revolved around her, without her it was reduced to nothingness
Such need would crush my heart when I try to fall asleep, knowing she’s not beside me
Ever heard of Love without heartache or wantonness without suffering?
We’ve created such a beautiful image of being in Love, that everyone becomes enticed
Seduced by the promise of utter bliss and heart-warming fulfilment
Never aware of the darkness that awaits to ensnare the “in Love”
Only able to focus on the illusion that our hearts create because of its need for affection
We lose ourselves, our common sense falls before the overwhelming strength of blind hope
Do we then flee from Love and retreat when attacked by its subtle madness?
Or do we face this cold reaper of hearts bravely with our hearts hiding behind shields of ice?
I say, whatever we do, Love like death will always find us; none is immune
We can only live life to the fullest until we are unlucky enough to fall victim to its fangs
Then we can only die slowly while its venom courses through our veins and invades our hearts
All in all, we’ll all die once or twice, maybe even a hundred times, at the hands of Love
But we live again, though only to die again and again; there’s no cure for Love after all
One thing keeps me hoping and fantasizing about the lighter, gentler side of Love
That Love will show me favour and allow me to die for someone who’ll die for me too