Insane love

        Love is insanity. There is no sane age to find it. It’s fantasy, it’s a misunderstanding, it’s the mix of drops of honey in a cup of anguish. There is no safety if we ask for someone’s heart and believe we can capture it. It’s like stealing a heart and never having had to jump from a wall in the middle of darkness. It’s feeling the wing laughing over the fields, it’s the calm wolf waiting for its victim.
      Love is insane when youth begins, when wet glances and nervous hands meet. It’s calmer in the later age, and a volcano is ready to explode, and turns it into sweet words.
        Does it make love follies insanity? However, these follies aren’t madness close to the wall of a hospice, but it’s a torture to think all the time of a face, to remember his voice, his smell, although we listened to the same words many times in the past from others. Love is insanity, like a lost boat in the wide sea. It will be insane if we dare to fight against everything only to stand before a beloved face.
         It’s insane to put our lives and happiness in unknown hands. And even so, we chose the calm first date in the middle of chaos, to live and to imagine that the chaos will be over.
        Love is a devil full of false truths and a sweet angel disguised in lies. It’s not a math question because promises join two hearts, and there is no solution for both. If love were a math question, it would be a problem without a solution. But we must demonstrate it and execute it all the time. This lie survives because we live in a fantasy, and love is eternal. Or, at least, we believe in this fantasy and always dive into it. Only mad people believe in this.
        Looking for another love when it’s over is fighting against reality using hope. We only cure love with another love. Then, it’s insanity if we look for the cure using the same illness. There is no greater insanity.

Photo from: Photo by JJ Jordan on Unsplash 

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