But there are no Bullets...and there are no Trains

It all begins with the First look.The meeting of eyes that sparks a flame inside your stomach.The infallible desire that follows a simple glance.It devours you like a poison that has no antidote.But what is It? That word,Love.So meaningful,Yet so meaningless.Do You Really Love? You say you would do any thing Because you Love. Take any BulletStep in front of every Train....but there are no Bullets And There are no Trains. Do you really Love,Or do you pretend? Do you conform to the idea,Or dive into the reality that you create? We're so caught up in the traps of this powerful word.Love is what you make itLove is what you acceptIt can't be fabricated it can't be washed awayYou can't buy itYou can't sell itAnd you can't trade it.   It is authentic     It is indescribable         And unreliable.            Love is...real. What do I want my Love to be?I want it to be special. I want to feel every upand Every downwith every inch of of my flesh.And I want to feel safeI want to see the bullets and the trains and I want to face them. I want to conquer them,And experience true joy.Love is patient Love is kind Love is easy until the money is tightLove is fun until the people start to stareLove is stressful until you value yourself Love is easy until it's real. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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