It's Almost July

To a certain person, love might be an exuberant terminology. For he or she might only use it, only for showing a sincere affection towards someone. But for some, love is an everyday word, a complementary to a sentence, a compulsory closing statement. For the rest, it remains taboo, and hurtful, because its presence has somehow crafted a horoundrous memory, about a particular tragedy. To them, love itself, is a tragedy. 

However, love has a very large spectrum and broad definition. To talk about one means to determine the contextualisation and within what sphere the topic is being discussed. Tonight, I shall be the cheesiest, nineteen year old teenager, who does not want to leave her teen era. Because of the sole reason.

I still want to love for a stupid, irrational, and humble reason.

to be a particular person which is deemed to be blinded by it,

to stay foolish, because her feeling always flourishes,

To forget a while about what are the consequences, why it is more harmful to grow the feeling, or leave thought of the cost on loving behind, for a while, I think I implore to be ignorant, about how bad would I get hurt, how wishful my dreams are, though I know it is unrequited. For a while, the only thing I want to care about is how I love unreasonably, getting excited every morning, and having a name I barely learn to remember wander in my pre sleep thoughts. 

Even to some extent, I think I am ready to fly, as high as possible,

because no, 

At this moment, at least for a while,

I am not afraid of falling.

This particular butterflies, a constantly fast heartbeats, a smile-curve lips, and a constant desire to jump, have  reminded me, that loving is indeed simple. and lively. and free. and probably the only thing you should not be responsible for. Indeed, it would be more beautiful if the particular person expresses an equivalent feeling, but at this moment, for a while, I know that I am content, just by loving under my own knowledge.