Perhaps it was love to know there was a price and to find it worth paying all the same. Perhaps it was love to have an unshakable madness burrow under your skin, asking you to choose that which terrified and exhilarated you, over and over, knowing one day it wouldn’t be a choice. Knowing that one day—when you are truly dependent on it—it will leave. By accident, choice, or time, it will be gone.
