It's like when someone makes your stomach feel all tight, but floaty at the same time, you know? And your cheeks hurt from smiling. And you smile so much that people think something's wrong with you.
Love is light. Acceptance. Fire.
Pain. Horrible pain. That you want again and again.
And also, fucking. Twenty-four seven, deep-dick, can't-walk-right fucking.
Well, you know me. I got so much to say about love.
It’s just chilling, you know? Kicking it with somebody, talking, making mad stupid jokes. And, like, not even wanting to go to sleep ‘cause then you might be without ‘em for a minute. And you don’t want that.
"Okay, it's like getting into a bath but the water is like warm chocolate pudding. And The Smiths are playing There Is a Light That Never Goes Out. There's warm lighting all over and there're like five dudes massaging you."
"And you have a pizza."
"She's right. And you also have a pizza."
It’s like you become more you. Which normally is like [head exploding noise made via mouth and wild hand gestures]. But now, it’s okay because the person, like whoever, they chose to take all that on. All that weird stuff. Whatever's wrong or bad or hiding in you. Suddenly it’s alright. You don’t feel like such a freak anymore.
It's like coming home after a long trip. That's what love is like. It's like coming home.