I am different. And I don't understand exactly how. And I don't understand just why.

he sucked the nectar from her heart like a famished butterfly.

Love Is a curious thing. Sometimes it barrels into you, leaves you breathless. Other times, it comes in- to your life, a tentative beam of morning sun sneaking through the blinds, and you think this light isn't possible. The shutters are drawn. Night should linger on. I don't feel like waking. Yet the room comes slowly lit. Sleep slithers away, and at last you can no longer deny the dawning.

Grandma once told me it's easy to overthink love, to dissect it and question it until it is no more.

Real love shouldn't be disposable.

The problem with falling in love is falling back out of it again, usually because you've fallen in love with a lie. That happens as often as not.

All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.