Each time I fall in love again, I have the urge to give Love a new definition.
And that makes me wonder, is love really that inconsistent?
does it change as often as the seasons in New York City?
At some point the flowers bloom, the birds sing, and the sun shines bright.
but there are days where the sky is a horrible shade of grey, the water freezes over, and warmth is the only thing on my mind but that seems merely impossible.
love changes, and it'll keep changing
so i put on my raincoat over my sundress and hope for the best.
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