Love….one cannot define its mere presence. Love is a dubious, dangerous, venture. It can make us feel crazy and do stupid thing. Puts us at risk and utterly defies common sense. Love is oxymoronic, an unnecessary need, desirable yet burning, clear but puzzling.
 
Does he love me? Will he want me to be his? Why did he hurt me so and I him? Can he understand me? Why do I care? Why is this person necessary to me as the breath I breathe, as essential as a cool drink of water in the hot desert of loneliness.


"If I were the queen of pleasure
And you were the king of pain
We'd hunt down love together"

Faustine revised