Very few things in life are worth worrying about.
Is love one of them?
Is love something that you have to nurture and tend to?
Is it as fragile and vulnerable as the very bones within my skin?
Or is it something that can take care of itself?
Can it take care of me?
Can it take care of us?
Where does love end?
Is love infinite?
Is this love?
Can it please be love?
What is love?
Now I question whether my feelings are true.
This is the part where worry turns to poison.
This is where I let my mind convince myself that maybe I'm wrong.
Now worry becomes fear.
Fear takes me by the throat and smiles.
It knows that it has power; that it is strong.
Then, like a dream, fear is kicked into trust.
Trust, not in myself, but in fate.
I believe in fate.
I feel mine in my pulse.
I'm not sure exactly what it will be...
But I've got a pretty good idea.
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