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I didn’t fall in love. I walked smack into it and then fell flat on my ass.
When he whispers between kisses how beautiful I am, how much he loves the way I smell, and how much he wants me, I feel high. And when I feel the scratch of his rough hands touch my body intimately, gently, roughly, but always with need, I am delirious.
Love is never supposed to hurt. Love is supposed to heal, to be your haven from misery, to make living fucking worthwhile. But as I stare at my wife, I know it’s all fucking bullshit. Love has the power to destroy you. Love has the power to bury you alive in a coffin full of pain and despair, robbing you of air, of the will to live.
Love is infinite. There is no beginning and no end. There’s no starting point and no finishing line. Love just is. Love is born, grows, matures, and sometimes it dies. But the memory will remain with you for the rest of your breathing hours. You fall in love, you fall out of love. But you will love again. You always do.
“When you fall out of love, it doesn’t mean that you stop loving someone. They just don’t make your heart beat faster. You don’t crave them until you don’t know where they end and you begin. I
