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Ours is a complicated kind of love

Sweet like the honey off the cob

But in seconds could switch and attack like a swarm of bees protecting their hive

It stings


Ours is a complex kind of love.

Simple to the layman

But like the brain

We don’t know enough to make a good call.


Ours is a random kind of love.

A lion and a panther

Peanut butter and banana sandwich

An unlikely pairing, that hypothetical speaking could work.


Ours is a delicate kind of love.

Like an egg, hard on the visible exterior

With a thin layer of flesh

But would break at the slightest drop.


Ours is a painful kind of love.

A love that makes you stay up thinking about the other at night

Worrying about them more than yourself

And Hating them for trying to stay.


Ours is an addictive kind of love.

A sense of false satisfaction

Like being on a drug and knowing it’s bad for you

But wanting more because it feels so good.


Ours is a silent kind of love.

Lost in translation

We speak, but we don’t listen.

Silenced by fear


Ours is a toxic kind of love.

A nuclear bomb of suppressed feelings

A flood of new things

Clothed by an overwhelming need to flee, flee to a distant land and never return


Ours is a twisted kind of love.

Where you feel you are in love with your best friend

Yet feel you are looking at a total stranger sometimes.

Like the roots of baobab plantation

Twisted and deep


Ours is a passionate kind of love.

A passion that blazes through the veins

And oozes from the ventricular valves.

Love that is necessary for survival


Ours is a special kind of love.

The one you read about in books and watch in movies

Love that makes no sense

But it’s love that still works.