Love

Love is a funny thing.

You expect it to be easy. You expect it to be a world of roses and laughs and perfect moments that you find only

in movies.

You expect her to

always say the right thing, and

always know exactly how you feel,

or exactly how to react to it.

You expect her to calm you down when you're yelling or to chase you

when you run away.

You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn't exactly match up to all your plans. But that's the thing.

Love isn't a plan. It doesn't have

a certain beginning and it

certainly has no end, or a visible

finish line to those deeply in it.

Love happens; it is so

incredibly messy. People around

you can't comprehend why you do

the things you do, or why you

fight so hard for something that

seems to cause you so much pain.

Because simply, they can't see.

They can't see the invisible ring

of insanity that surrounds you

when you're in love. It's

inconvenient and painful and

devastating at times, but we can't

live without it.

What you don't learn is how hard love is. How much work it takes. How much of ourselves we have to put into it.

How it isn't worth it until we are

complete and utter idiots about it.

Love isn't her calming you

down when you yell. It's her

yelling, just as loud, just as

hard, right back at you, right in

your face to wake you up and to

keep you grounded.

I love you, more then Aladdin loves Jasmine. I love you, more then Noah loves Allie. I love you, more then Romeo loves Juliet. I love you.

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