Awkward Intentions
Love is a subjective concept, without constrictions on time or depth. Even scrutinized under a microscope, one is unable to grasp it or attain it. It lives inside our hearts and breathes in our veins, like a fiery dragon mad with lust. It seeps into us, rains on our very being ‘til we’re intoxicated. Your hearts are wasted with an agonizing desire to consume the flames within each other. It’s a maddening sort of intoxication, an oblivion, if you will.