it's just that kind of thing that ties itself to you. .love. like a sailor in a shipwreck lashes himself to the mast in hopes of staying afloat, it binds itself to the owner and holds on dear. even when the storm is over... even when it's drowned and dead. all that's left is to rot and drift out to sea. and after a while, the two become one and nobody will know the differences of before and after.
it's a sort of thing that creeps into every crack and crevace of a life, like water, filling it and flowing like blood in veins. the feeling of alive it brings, and the clarity and movement, they sing. and they stay. even when the freeze comes and turns it all to ice and cold. all that's left is to expand and stretch until the one breaks the other to pieces, all mixed together and inseperable, and irreversible.
love is the type of thing that writes is name on everything it touches, making sweet dedications to memory. yet never goes back and erases its work, even when the dedications have been taken back or emptied of worth. every star and every song and every word and every thing with its indellible script screams old smiles and butterflies. but all that's left is to close your eyes and ears and try to ignore your heartbeat. and so softly and unnoticed,
fade away together.