Idk what to call this

What does one say when faced with the crushing and terrifying realization that they are in love? How does one respond to the idea that something has blossomed where there was nothing. That there is now life were there was not, that there is something so new and strange and foreign that even assigning the term of 'love' to it seems to not capture it in its entirety. She is not perfect because she is flawless, by God above she's flawed, but her flaws and mine complement and mesh, together we are something stronger, and that is why she is perfect. Perfect despite and because of her flaws.

I have never been good at dealing with things like wants and desires, I do not like to touch for fear that I'll take hold, I do not like to hold for fear of coveting one's heart. What does one call this strange mix of fear and desire and protectiveness and hope and the maddening agony that comes with it all?

Can love really encompass such a vast range of emotions? Can such a term cover all of them and tie them up in a neat little box with nary a farther explanation? Can it sum up this feeling that rivals both the breath of stars and the whispers of stone? And if it can…can it last? Does love remain long after the shroud of this world separates her and I? Will her smile haunt me all of my days? Will she torment me with her tiny life span, a mere flicker in a flame that will last only God knows how long? Is it worth it? Is it worth the potential pain? Is it worth loving one who will die, one whom I know cannot stay with me forever? Is the short years of happiness worth the time it will take to heal?...I…I do believe it is.

I do believe that it is worth it to love something, some one so fleeting and rare, to love with the passion and hope and joy that such a short lifespan brings. I believe it is worth it to take the chance on this happiness…I believe that maybe, just maybe, love can sum it all up. All this big, beautiful and terrifying emotion…it's love. All of it is love. And I think…I think that might just be enough.


I lost track of this didn't I, journal? Oh bother, this woman's going to be the death of me.

Ever yours - Arron Drayven