Love is...

Love is a divine place, even when the wells are poisoned.

Even when the walls crumble and the ceiling leaks, like a metronome as the droplets hit the bottom of a bucket. Even after you patch up the hole and the orange, water-stained paint remains. And you stand where the water once fell, without a grudge.

It’s rarely unblemished, and it’s never perfect, but it’s bliss.

It’s usually fleeting, but it’s pure comfort when it’s live, right in front of you.

It’s giving your entire self up, to be nothing but a safe haven whenever they call.

To feel everything at once in that fraction of a second long, extraordinary glance.