Love, love, love...

Every story is a love story. Not just the obvious, simple, fairytale romance stories, but every story ever told. There is no life without love. There is nothing without love. It is laced throughout history. It paves the path of the future. It holds the present tightly in its place and keeps the universe’s heart beating. Love is the glue that holds us all together. Love is the selfishness that forces us apart. Love is the fuel for lust. Love is the residue of broken families. Love is in everything. Love surrounds everything. Love is everything.
The different types of love are uncountable. They outnumber the stars and shine brighter than the sun. They are not experienced by all. They are not definable, palpable, sensible, or perfectible by anyone. We chose the number of loves we experience. We chose the degrees to which we feel them. We control the love. We have total power.
There is complete power in the loves we hold. We collect them like cards. We save them like money. We use them like they were disposable. We pretend they are unconditional. We pretend like we don’t notice them. We love ourselves first. We love those who love us second. We love those who refuse to love us third. Then in no particular order we love our clothes, our homes, our cars, our pets, our thoughts, our dreams, our nightmares, our successes, our failures, our connections, our loneliness, etc.
We love to love. We love to hate. We love to laugh. Secretly we love to cry. It’s a power that we love, the ability to love. The power of making people want our love.
This story is a story of love and why it exists and how it fulfills. I believe love might have fallen in love with itself. And that’s why it just won’t die. Love is in love with life. And as long as it is breathing, no one is safe. Because in one form or another, love will find and possess your life. It will creep through your veins like vines on bricks. It will force upon you a power you will never fully understand. But that is why we love it.