Love is not what I thought it was
It doesn’t look the way people describe it
It isn’t a thing or a feeling, but a process
It’s something you have to create
It’s a work of art
And some art is boring, some art is beautiful
But all art is worth making
Art does not have to be entertaining, it just has to be
And so much the better if it’s truth
And so much the better if it’s a lie
But the lies hurt, and that’s just how it is
Love is not a feeling, but an echo of desire
Love exists in dreams and we make it real for a little while
But it falls to death like all things
Nothing survives forever
Sadness comes at the end, but then joy
All things die and life comes into the world anew
Love is the same
Love is a living creature we will into existance
It’s created by one, by two, by many, by none
It exists, even if it isn’t real
It’s real, even if realities are shifting things
Love is a child, and love is a lonely boy
Crying in bed at night
It’s so cold
And love is cold too
Love is cold
Give it warmth and it will blossom
Give it heat and it will die
Give it more of itself and it will smother
Give it away
Keep it
It doesn’t matter, but it’s there
It’s there, and there’s nothing you can do to change it
Love is unchanging and constant, love is fickle and a liar
Love is beautiful and unbearable
Love is essence and oblivion, but it is
And love is cold
Love is cold


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