To love is to exist, and to exist is to love. To make another person feel loved and be loved in exchange even if in the simplest ways, the simplest forms. To have that feeling be enough to feed on for the rest of your eternity, and then to mourn it when a half expires before the other.

However to love is to lose.
You either lose yourself in loving, you lose the love, or you lose them while you’re loving, and I do not know which one is the worst.

To be so immersed in one’s love to the point where the sweetness could turn into poison and still taste like cotton candy. You don’t sense the toxicity until the venom had spread itself in your system the way their love did until it had paralyzed all of your muscles, disabled all your limbs, and silenced your lips with one last sugar honey kiss.

The feeling of dirt as the familiar touch no longer feels like home, the familiar odor no longer smells like an old book always sitting on your shelf, the familiar voice no longer sounds like your favorite music. You no longer love them like your favorite lover. The slow seconds as they pass one by one and you start to notice one by one every flaw you loved, every detail you hated now takes the form of them, it is all you can see, and a way out is all you want.

Maybe wearing the other’s shoes is the worst. Your eyes seek the only one and realizing all you are for them is another. They break, bit by bit because they no longer want you and you break just the same because they’re all you ever wanted. The despair of not knowing what to do with a love, so intense so pure it spills of all your atoms when it gets rejected by the person who owns all of it.