When I think I know what he is, he comes back and shows another face of his. Yet I call him love.
He is liquid form of pain that never solidifies cause he stir it every day, and he says it is love.
He wears an invisible coat that swings and affects my moods. Yet I see him as love. He makes me face my own pain on the awakening of disturbed creatures living inside me. Confused I still call him love.
He puts my life suspended in platforms of fear, he makes me drown my mind on lakes of constant nightmares. He makes me see who I am and I call him love.
He keeps dressing me with beautiful promises that never comes true but makes me feel alive.
He is not good or bad, he just is.
One day I will figure who he is and why I accept my fate of being the one for him. Till there I will keep calling him my love.