Sensitive Itch

Don’t fall in love
It would bring chills to your heart and warmth to your soul
It would make you smile even on days the same colour as your deepest fears
Love is a Rudy Francisco piece transposed into music orchestrated by Handel; it is exasperatingly beautiful, but don’t fall in love
Love is deception
Love, unlike what I previously thought was merely the reaction of the brain to being bathed by endorphins from your eyes coming in contact with someone your mind is convinced you would like to rub genitals with, is real
Love is pure
It is life – it is being alive
The centre of the galaxy contains Ethyl formate; meaning it smells like rum and raspberries
Love is exactly like that;
It is sour and sweet – like spices and doughnuts
It is you reading this poem and thinking about that one person, or two (which is okay too, by the way)
It can get you depressed yet have you craving as though your life depended on it.
Love makes no sense
Just like this poem; just like you
It is your life depending on someone else
Who gives you no certain guarantee that they would not switch up on you the next minute
Love is a promise
Sometimes, it turns out to be a broken promise
Sometimes, love is hurt and tears and memories you get, hoping your Alzheimer’s kicks in and wipes it all off
The difference between a garden and a graveyard depends on what you decide to put in the ground
Love is something like that;
It is deciding to plant your heart the same place your soul was buried and hope this time, you don’t end up with a knife made of hurtful words to your chest
Once in your life, if you’re (un)lucky, you’ll meet someone who divides your life into the time before you met them, and after
They will completely shatter your view on life, and love, show you how misconstrued you were about what reality was, and how beautiful it could be
They would bring the hurt along with their baggage, and dump it with you
It’s stupid – it is me writing this and feeling the hurt all over again
It’s the clenched fist and tightened chest, the emotions that gush into your brain when you see that person you once shared your soul with in the arms of someone else
It is hate, it is hatred
Love is the reason I went to the gym and bench-pressed till my shoulders stopped moving and I didn’t feel any hurt
It sounds like the ignition to your father’s car the day he decided you and your mom were no longer part of his long term plans
Love is magic – not just in the sense of being wonderful, but also because it is fake – an illusion
Do not be deceived, don’t fall prey
Love is exhaustingly beautiful, but don’t fall in love
At least not with someone as clueless about it as me
Or you
Love is a repetition
It is me using the same metaphors as 4 years ago when I got my heart shattered for the first time
It is like the wet dream of a brother of the night’s watch during a wildling attack, feeling the same walls closing in on my soul
Love is you
Love is you doing the same thing as the first person I said “I love you” to
It is the arthritis I feel in my hands from the pain raging a warfare beneath my bones
Love is a trauma
And one I hope to God never to feel ever again.

PS: This is so stupid. Why do I still have these feelings?

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