The magic of purpose and of love in its purest form. Not televison love, with its glare and hollow and sequined glint; not sex and allure, all high shoes and high drama, everything both too small and in too much excess, but just love. Love like rain, like the smell of a tangerine, like a surprise found in your pocket.

It's shocking the things we call love.

I was like a chocolate in a box, looking well behaved and perfect in place, all the while harboring a secret center.

Too often in my life, love has been defined as "humiliation with occasional roses".

I had always had a little problem looking out for myself in love. I was afraid people would leave me. So I sort of clung and did everything possible to keep someone around. I didn't have a hard talk with myself about who I was keeping around. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. I clung to people like human life preservers. I thought i'd die if someone left me. Its ironic because now I'm the one who's leaving.

So I put up with bad behavior in the name of loving the way I thought you were supposed to love.