Love
The word is thrown around so much it hardly has meaning. Yes I love her, but why say it? Saying, " I love you" can be as meaningless as saying, "I can fly." Neither are true- most of the time.
Ah she is the rare "sometimes" wherein both become truth. "Loving" her gives me wings to fly, effortlessly. It's not as though she makes me fly, but rather, the sky has been brought down to me so that I may fly. I put forth no effort, I am weightless in the endless expanse of atmosphere. "Loving" her made the earth I had previously lusted for a hell that I now only could escape by flying. Soaring. The nebulous blue expanse had become my drug that this "love" had carried me up to.
Beauty
If the word "beautiful" is used to describe flowers, oceans, sunsets, then I need a word infinitely more meaningful. Nature is perfect- yet I would never die for it. How should I describe it?
Her beauty isthe kind that makes any man stop in his tracks just stare at the shadow of her face like it's a comet that just burst into flames entering the earth's atmosphere.- but it isn't just...
Her beauty is the kind that urges me to kiss her lips until they fall off and then a few times more.
But not only...
Her beauty is a beauty of the soul and heart deeper than any star is far away,-I hear it in her laugh. Her beauty is the immaculately stunning way she makes my day brighter than the sun in any summer day.
Her beauty is like the sun- No...
Her beauty is like the moon- No...
Her beauty is like the entire infinite galaxy that contains uncountable and immeasurable amounts of these suns and moons that give light to everything that sees.
I love her not because of any great feeling that I have- but rather, quite the opposite.
I love her because of the pain I feel when she becomes happy at my great expense.
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