My Sunflower

Love is torture.

It is the torment of waiting to feel her skin on mine.

It is bearing the addiction of her presence in her absence, lest I should die.

Love is obsession.

It is the maddening realization that no thought can exist that she is not part of, that no day will come where I won't yearn for her embrace.

It is the uneasy rush that I feel every single time our eyes meet.

Love is insanity.

It is living only in memories of her, for the rest of the world cannot compare.

It is a break from reality, for every second with her is a fantasy.

Love is divine.

It is the proof that God exists, the peaceful warmth that flows through me when I see her smile.

It is the beating of her heart against mine, the gentle brush of her nose on my neck.

It is the way our teeth sometimes touch when we kiss, the softness of her lips, more addictive than any drug.

Love is her.

She is the lone sunflower in my somber meadow of darkness.

She is the shining beacon of the lighthouse that directs me, and keeps me on a righteous path.

Love is her, and she is everything.

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