A random photo that I was recently editing:
A random comment from something I was recently reading:
Love is a funny thing. It doesn’t begin at the same moment a relationship decidedly does, with touches and glances and determination. It is not bound by agreements or contracts or compromises. It starts in thin, delicate wisps and never reveals itself until it is completely formed, and by then it’s too late to push it away. It’s too heavy, too hard, too concrete. It stays and invades and conquers. It drives you to do crazy things in its name. It won’t cease until every part of you yearns and hurts and sings. It leaves visible, stinging marks on your heart the way the summer sun does to your skin. It peels and fades and takes heavy casualties. Love is a battle. Love is a pushing and pulling of heartstrings and nerve endings. Love is a growing up.