He is…
Hers.
Her gut wrenching-
painfully obliging-
self-neglecting-
half-
whole-
first love and heartbreak-
bile swallowing-
mascara streaking-
backstabbing,
cold betrayal.

He is her best friend and her worst enemy.

He is the boy whom, without a single glance over his shoulder, destroys the very essence of what it means to be a youth among the old, the beautiful among the copy-written-imitated-cheaply-mass produced-unoriginal-conformity endorsing-faceless crowd, the sacredness of self, and the one-unique-piece that makes her, her.

He is love.
* * *
Love is…


the passion blinding-
knee weakening-
stomach hurtling-
heart thrashing-
sweating-
desire building-
risk taking-
mind tingling, fantasizing, dreaming-
finger tips touching: carefree-
intangible emotion, person, object of --
full blown affection.

It is the happiness that floods her heart, the adrenaline pumping in her veins, and the voice that gives her inspiration. It is the nourishing food that sparks her creativity, puts her feet in motion, and causes her voice to sing at its loudest volume. It is an explosion of bliss.

It is the stripping of innocence. It is the choice of giving someone else the power over her mind, body, and soul.

Love is…
The panting after running away from the truth-
the tears gathering in her throat, choking her breath-
the cry of shattering glass,
the silence that fills her ears.

It is…
the heart wrenching-
noose entangling-
faith destroying coward/villain-
soul torturing-
strength weakening-
cold, robotic, unspoken words-
silence breaking, mute cries of the blood sucking leach that on one random day,
causes him to forsake her.

It is the regret of a choice, the pain of betrayal, and the feeling of loss. It is the empty void that grips her heart and never lets go.

It is the loss of a first love. It is her total inexplicable, incomprehensible undying need to hold onto something that is no longer there. It the excruciating pain that she puts herself through every time she hears his name. It is the awful memories that hit her like a tsunami, the minute he enters a room.

It is the feeling of total powerlessness to regain self-control, dignity, and self-worth in his presence. It is the empty feeling that never goes away, what forever feels like when it ends. It is her curse.

It is the voice that tells her that she still loves him. It is the urgency of not wanting to let go.

Love is He.
He is her Love.
And She,
She is Me;
And I,

Choose to live a fantasy rather than my reality.