I don't know.
I don't understand it.
It's weird though, that's what I've figured out so far.
Love, I think, is when your partner comes back to you after the 250th fight. Maybe he doesn't come back immediately with a bouquet of roses in hand. Maybe he needs time to sort things out for a week or two. But he comes back anyway. Drunk and miserable, he knocks on your door and says, 'I'm so sorry, please let me in again.'
Love, I think, Is making a bunch of sacrifices. No matter big or small. He doesn't smoke around you because you hate the smell. You find a part time job so you can bring him out to a fancy restaurant for once.
But I don't know.
Love could just be a silly thing people gave a name to.
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I wrote this about a month ago and I found this very relevant to me now.
Hi Alastair, I love you.
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