this boy taught me everything i know about love right now, and i was wrong about the whole idea of it before him. love isn’t supposed to be something you figure out. it’s something you just plant on a field to see what it’ll bloom into. water it, give sunlight to it, fertilize it, make it grow. but along the way if it just gets less of the attention, and the consistency turns into ignorance then it’ll surely not reach the part when it can show its colors. what grows will eventually stop and die; love only has petals that fall on one’s cheeks. love is just a masterpiece you work on to probably leave midway, or erase, or paint over. love takes away the butterflies from your stomach, empties it, and replaces it with the monsters in your head. love is too creative to even make a single story so alike that one can feel exactly the same as the other. when a person makes you feel that the beat in your heart can run miles within seconds, and you feel like you can get used to feeling like you can do anything, it’s still going to be there in the end when you break at the sound of his name, or at the slightest moment you remember what you just lost and can’t have again anymore.