Love is so fucking corrupt.
Love is lying and tricking. Love is hard work. Love is suffocating and using. It’s head-fucking and soul-ruining. It’s apprehensive and back-stabbing. It’s passionate. It’s chilling. It’s smile-giving, but neck-breaking. It’s not worth it. It’s so fucking worth it. It’s everything I thought it was, and everything I thought it wasn’t.
Love is guilt. Love is escaping. Love is sunny-side eggs and candy-corn. It’s late night phone calls and stealing time. It’s keeping calm. It’s livid. Love is unresisting. Love is in the little girl with the yellow popsicle. Love is watching the fireworks in her eyes. Love is holding hands under the blankets and having something to look forward to. Love is belonging. Love is no longer belonging to yourself. Love is fighting a losing battle. Love is a secret. Love is untruth. Love is two years younger, but a million times older.
Love is at my house, ignoring my unease.
Love has ruined everything, but made it so much better.
Love is a blissful wonder.
Love is a strawberry-blonde, liar, tease-baby, princess-girl, torture. She has it all wrong. She should have picked up. If she cared, she would have. Love would have answered.
Love has the best of me.
Love is always supposed to understand.
Love is supposed to be effortless.
Love is supposed to be loyal.
Love is always supposed to answer.
But Love is love’s traitor.
-Dusty, The Elizabeths. (via dustyislove)