The pitch dark nights hold the death of me.
The moldy skeleton, the past dead, lost.
But to love, resurrecting the heart to pump.

Pounding at the door of my chest, raging to be free.
Feelings of madness, rats in the heated metallic bucket of my heart.
The newborn, pudgy, awkward, beginning of life
Never regretting the actions causing the love.

How to love is to always be there.
How to love is crossing the line between drawn between friends.
How to love is to be strong and never giving up hope.
How to love is how to breathe.
How to love is how to live.