The Story about Love by Sasha Brahynets

you say love is a Choice.

i'm thinking over the beginning of all of this. i remember its background and words, that was written on my bad by you. we weren't in love when it started but we knew that we would. Choice is not always about countless variants, but about the decision to have such a risk as mutual feelings, to get deeper into all-encompassing wave of emotional and physical interaction.

you say love is Perception.
i playback the image of your dilated pupils which meant an understanding of each other's condition. that evening you were burning the cities for me, while i was a drop in the universe which belonged to us two. i saw flowers in you, while touching your skin's softness and cried while listening to your thoughts in the morning. the sunrise was purple like in the romantic movies we've never watched together, cause they can't depict such a relation as ours.

you say love is an Effort.
i start to count every time we decided to spend the day separately. i miss every phrase we said in the evenings after them. i recall each lost opportunity to enjoy you holding a tea cup or listening carefully to the artists we don't take seriously. i regret every effort we haven't put to be closer nevertheless they aren't the reasons.

you say love is Pain.
i'm attacked with a destructive trembling while thinking over the meaning of trust and its basis. i try forgiving and understanding, which is why my inner starts to feel guilty one more time. the reflection in the mirror has become unfamiliar, bags under my eyes have reached the floor and i step on them, which is why fall. the emotions are blunted artificially, the voice of mine is not about night singing for you anymore. my neck is so hot with your nervous breathing on it, that it seems to have melt until i wake up and figure out your absence.

you say love is a Release.
i remember the time of letting it go. even you wouldn’t ever repeat those moments. i remember you crying while giving an answer and regret me saying "that's ok". i destroy the memories about your hair within my right-hand's fingers and their pressure with a desire to get into your head and correct every single doubt.

i know tomorrow you'll say love is Betrayal and i will remember nothing, cause you won't anymore be the very person i'm owned by. i will start to look for someone else to explain me why those feelings are so significant and what to do with the soul wounds, which are bleeding and require an appropriate healing. i will dip the fingers into their sticky substance just to make sure they really ache. i gonna rend them to make red everything around, cause that is the color of true love and now that's surely my turn to speak.