I am nothing if not Intensity in person. And I’m bored now. Do I fall in love, out of boredom? Do I feel things because they’re plain entertainment? Alright, you were right then.
If love were a poem, I’d be an ode to your being.
If love were a song, I’d be a serenade to you.
If love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist.
If love were a banquet, I’d be a causality of gluttony.
If love were a bottle of vinegar, I’d be pickled in it.
If love were haute cuisine, I’d be tender meat stewed in its juices.
If my love were a letter, it would be silent.
If my love were a word, it would be misspelt.
If my love were a sentence, it would be self-referential.
If my love were a question, it would be rhetorical.
If my love were a language, it would be Braille.
If love were a disease, it would be my the cancer in my cells.
If love were only enough, I’d be the answer to all the world’s questions.
I only wish it had been a shot of cyanide. I’d have been dead with a smile on my lips. But there is life. There is also an empty glass in my hands. I’m waiting.