Love

The wondrous conscious I am burdened with is often satisfied by the simplicity yet arguably conflicted idea of love It appears in occasional bursts, almost leaving the instant it comes. Yet the thought of its brief presence lingers endlessly and urges me to venture deeper into the oblivion I call my emotions and to discover the reason for its irreplaceable high. It seems to be a blessing and a violently noticeable scar all at once; and that remains is physical A soft caress of the check, an unbearable pain in the chest, cotton mouth: all symptoms of this idea - this feeling. It hits you wave by wave as you sway in sync with its rhythmic pattern It strengthens and embroiders itself into your heart, serving as a reminder every beat. It becomes harder and harder to resist, but not even the idea of love can be surgically removed or minimized. It is permanent, it consumes you But somewhere along the way, you accept it, you let it engulf your very being.