Love

         Love, unlike lust, starts in the head, at the top as it works its burning way down. The mind is smothered with thoughts of the holy someone, with past conversations playing over and over like a rerun of a favorite movieâother conversations yet to be had dripping in like day dreams as longing and missing entraps the aching heart.
         Love is like the moon, eternal light and beauty incarnate, but with a dark side: Addiction and obsession tightening around the neck like a noose, a physical and mental need that threatens to destroy if not sated.
         Love is never looking back, a treacherous step off a crumbing cliff thirty thousand feet in the air.
         Down,
         burning,
         falling.
         A coil of fright and need erupts in the belly, so powerful it stings and blinds the eyes.
         But then, oh, then if the love is returned, the falling ends as he or she catches their lover in warm arms just before they meet the deadly ground. The couple floats together,
         entwined,
         in union,
         one.
         What comes after is a mystery, but for that lovely, secret moment there are no thoughts, no worries. Only the feeling that humans have deemed fit to die for, that writers and romantics have ironically wasted an entire lifetime trying to logically understand, that feeling more climatic that lust remains, sweetly, intoxicatingly.
         There is a simple smile, there is an epic kiss.
         There is love.
         And it is more real than God.