I can't touch the stars. Scientifically nobody can. But touching the person you love, and want, feels almost as electric.
My goal has always been to find myself. To find myself where I belong, to find a place where I can love, live and be happy. And part of that is finding someone you can truly believe in, who you can touch, and feel the electric pulses as their hands touch you back.
Love is a passion. Not only that, it's something you can cherish. Something you can create, something you can feel, but it's not solid. It can't be sculpted, like clay. It can't be shaped to fit a mold, or in my case, to fit me. It can't be remade into something you want it to be.
But what is the price of love? Is it worth that electric feeling, like you're reaching out and touching a star? A nova, bursting in your chest, your body, consuming you? Is it worth it to blush each time the person comments on your hair, your makeup?
Is anything worth it? Is anything possible when love is, just beneath your grasp, waiting? Is it worth it to watch them fall?
Love will always come with a price. Nobody can feel sound, safe when any second that love can dissolve, from a silly mistake.
Love can't be cocooned. It can't be transformed into a butterfly. But it can soar, make you feel an adrenaline rush, pounding in your ears as you kiss, deeply, for the first time in forever.
Rambling is what I do when I feel the need to talk to someone, but can't, so I disguise it as a piece, a word, a freshly baked bite, warm on my tongue, about to dissolve in tiny shards.
Love makes many people feel this way. It could make me feel this way, you feel this way. But I don't have much experience with love, so I can't say the same is true. But you can, you can find it in yourself to love.