Love is an assembly of reasonble emotions meshed with
An arrangement of erratic, unrealistic
drastically disorganized measures.
I know, because the moon smiled down on me
the night he took my hand,
he gave me four wishes
and I was hooked.
Never warned, dandelions are only weeds-
Stars are too hot to reach,
wishbones refuse to be fair,
and 11:11 repeats itself far too often.
So I laugh, wishing
is a
rather gleeful
imperfection,
I know.

Love is beautifully painful-
as is the truth.
We stumble through it, addicted.
I know, addiction.
It's in his smile, his touch,
his laugh, his mind.
It numbs me to life.
Love is this crazy tragedy
that everyone
sings about
writes about,
I know.