Copyright 2013 by Kimberly Torres . All rights reserved.
Paper Roses and the like
Everyone tries to find it. Others get lucky and live happily ever after; others get it wrong on the first try and give up; still others fail, but never stop trying; but many don't find it at all.
Love. The stuff that poets write about in their pieces that we don't understand, only that it's sometimes tragic, and still it makes the world go 'round. For some it's the reason they live, for others, the cause of death. Could there be anything else in the world that could be as vivacious a party on full swing but at the same time lethal as a double-edged sword?
Love is passing little notes that ask ...view middle of the document...
Love is having phone conversations that last for hours, talking about things at random, because neither wants to say goodbye, not yet. Love is a special nickname you have for each other that nobody else knows about; the connection that is invisible, but invincible. Love is making a joke out of a horror movie, simply because any fearful feeling invoked by the scary scenes and screaming would only be crushed by that connection.
And also, love is finding that person with someone else, somewhere; could be walking hand in hand, or something more. You take a second look to make sure, and you feel like being doused with cold water while standing on fire, the reality just hurts like hell. But you lay on your bed stuffing your blanket into your mouth, so you can stop your paroxysims of laughter from waking everyone in the house and prevent them from thinking you've gone mad.
Love is locking yourself in your room, determined to shut your self from the rest of the world, and wallow in your sadness, saying "What the hell, I'm depressed". Love is crying buckets the size of Texas, drowning yourself with indeterminable amounts...