For something so universal, love is wonderfully subjective. I have known I love you for ten years, and every year I learn a little more what love means. Every year, love means a little more. Do not ask me what love is—I have no words to contain it. I know only my life, our lives, intertwine, the math of it be damned, the two are one. For better or worse, my life is yours.
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Thus is now a blawg
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zombiecuddle reblogged this from squashed and added:
felt this way about me. Then again, if Comstock...thecallus can find
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