For what is love, if but conditional? Can it still be called love if someone says "I love you if. . . ." Is it still love?
But I am most certain that I would still love you. Even if you shatter me once again, a thousand more times. I do believe I would still love you, even if love meant pain, even if love meant separation. I do believe I would love you even if love meant death. In fact, especially if it meant death. Is not love, but the dying of two hearts, which resurrect themselves into one?
Is not love me turning to you, and proclaiming: "I might be broken, but so are you. And in our brokenness, we come together, and we are whole"? Is it not out of love that I say these things?
Or what of you, your cold facade, your uneven temperament. Do you yet run from me, frightened? I can only hold out my hand to you, because I am frightened too. I am frightened of you, and I am frightened of the things I feel for you. I am frightened that you will hurt me again, but I cannot help but still rea