"I don't get the fuss with love" she laughed. "Why does everyone go crazy? It's just a feeling. It's not like it makes the sky pink or anything."
He laughed along at her carefree words, oh, what a witty girl she was!
He laughed again, until his eyes met the brown abyss that was trapped inside her iris.
It was a mere moment, only.
It was a mere moment, only. But it felt like damn infinity to him.
And he paused, to think.
"Oh well" he finally coughed.
"Oh well" he finally coughed. "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you. That baby angel plays with his arrow clumsily."
"You in love there Hank? Awwww, Hank is loooovestruck" she mocked.
Lovestruck. What an honest, brutal and real meaning this word has!
That's what love does, it strikes.
Usually, it aims for the head, but it does target the heart sometimes.
And it's translated into pulses.
Every strike, every wound,
Every strike, every wound, becomes a pulse.
And the faster they get,
And the faster they get, the more damned you are.