This is not love

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This is not love. This is smelling the clothes she left on the bed because you miss her, even though she only left ten minutes ago.
This is not love. This is wearing her watch even though you hate being controlled by times and routines, just to feel close to her.
This is not love. This is setting your alarm in the middle of the night when you're apart in case she misses you in her bed.
This is not love. This is taking snacks everywhere you go because she gets grumpy when she's hungry.
This is not love. This is heroine addiction in it's purest form.
This is not love. This is wanting nothing more than to fall asleep every night listening to her gentle snoring.
This is not love. This is staying up til 5am talking and then getting up at 6:30 for work.
This is not love. This is a constellation of rough sex induced bruises kissed by the gentlest of lips.
This is not love. This is the quickening of your pulse when her warm skin brushes against yours.
This is not love. This is watching her instead of watching the film you've rented, because nothing can captivate you the way she does.
This is not love. This is lying together so entwined you can't tell where you end and where she begins.

This is not love. This is more than love. This is symbiosis. Obsession. Adoration. This is adrenaline reminding you how alive you are. This is lust, want, need, infatuation, surrender, perfection, beauty.

This is not love. This is more than love.



This is home.
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