Love Kills

(Disclaimer: Please do not take this- particularly the end- too literally and needlessly worry about me. This is partly how I process difficult emotions. I wrote what I wrote in keeping with the metaphor, and because the strength of the words conveys the difficulty of what I am wrestling with. I am okay, and will be)

They see it as some sort of dream; fairytale, fantastic, unforgettable. Every moment can defy the laws of physics, every problem miraculously surmountable. This ridiculous delusion only serves to heighten the terror of the truth...
Love kills.
It has been said that love is a hell of a drug, and they are sure as hell right about that. It will leave you strung out in desperation, a sad shell of your former self.
And you will love it.
For as much as love tears you apart, it strengthens you in that very same instant.
"I am nothing without her," but "I am everything with her."
"I would do anything for her," and then, "I will do anything for her."
It is the epitome of strength, and the totality of weakness. It is man at his greatest and at his worst.
Love forever fulfilled, and love unrequited.
"'tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all," but oh, "ignorance is bliss."
True love never ends, even if unreciprocated. What torment, what agony, to ever be thrust headlong into the heart of willing sacrifice and forge your all into anything-but-self only to be bound by the harshest of limitations: complete and utter absence of receipt.
True love can not be revoked, for that is the nature of love; it gives no thought to self even in the face of unbearable pain. Even if that love ever returns void, still it will persist, on into perpetuity.
Love is pain, willingly.
Love is agony, gladly.
Love kills, and I am not afraid to die. But sometimes... I am afraid to live.