Blog Number Fifty-Nine: Free Type

Love is...the scars on your knees, the leftover food in the refrigerator, the song the birds sing, the pain you inflict, the sweet nothingness which flutters from your lover's mouth, the half-complete cigarette, diet coke which fizzles on your tongue, the rainbow sprinkled on your cupcake, the battered package you recieved in the mail the other day, the sound of wind escaping through a small gap in your window, the dampness in your hair, the chipped red varnish on your fingernails, your grandmother's musical box, the ballet shoes you've had since you were five, the music playing on your car stereo, the flaky paint on your walls, the bubblegum stuck under desks, the Toothfairy, your hands and the things you make with them, the kisses you blow, the clothes you wear, five am morning breath, your sensitive teeth, the tingly feeling you get when you get touched at certain parts of your body, the tanlges in your lover's hair, sleepless nights, overdosing on painkillers, underserved success and recognition, telling lies and not getting caught, blacking out from consumption of too much alcohol, being desired by multiple parties, solving a mathmatical problems, watching the people around you, screaming out of your window in the middle of the night, flaming your lover's ex, make-up sex, smudged mascara, dishevelled hair, smeared lipstick, the coffee and bagel you digest on a daily basis, little children, silence, recyclable materials, trees, photosynthesis, growth, developement.
No. Love is...you, I, and a careless mixture of everything else we worry about.