Love is madness. Love is walking around hoping to bump into the one, only to fail to look them in the eye at any point in the entire 5 seconds of your encounter.

Love is madness. It is knowing that something will probably never be yours, but aching after it anyway.

Love isn’t beautiful. Love isn’t meaningful. Love is obsessed thoughts and lamentations about fate and destiny. Love is scripts practiced to a t, never to be acted out because you don’t have the balls to even say hi.

Love is ruminating over brief encounters and reading into actions and seeing your face floating in my mind, lacing my dreams with longing.

Love is manifesting entire futures and imagining baby names and family generations and lazy days in bed and haphazard thoughts that constantly overshadow logic and rationality.

Love is the reason I sit here unable to focus on my Differential Equations homework because I need to empty my head of the distraction that is you.


The beauty of it all is that I know that in a few weeks, in a month or two, this feeling will be but a vague memory, yet another bunch of feelings that lie gathering dust somewhere in my subconscious, occasionally to be brought up for laughs at its sheer absurdity, irrationality.

I’m patiently waiting for that day.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.