Love takes hostages. It gets inside you.
It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.
It hurts.
Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind.
It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.
Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love.
[gaiman]
awfully redundant but, serves me right. i should've known better. haha.
February 13, 2010
static, anti-climactic
Posted by
Raenbow Bright
at
Saturday, February 13, 2010
tags neil gaiman, woe becomes me
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