Love

Love is an illness, 
A loss of all sense,
Sometimes brief,
Sometimes chronic,
Causing agonizing,
Insurmountable pain,
Yet there is nothing
I would not do,
To see you smile.

Isn't it peculiar?
We search for a lifetime,
Making our hearts,
So achingly fragile,
Desperately clinging to hope
That we won't be broken,
Yet there is nothing
I would not do,
To hear you laugh.

I think about this often,
When I'm waiting
For you to remember me;
The bruise that forms fresh,
Every moment that
I love you so hopelessly,
Yet there is nothing
I would not do,
To feel your touch.

So like all those
Who have loved truly,
I plant my feet, let roots grow,
Stretch out my arms,
To bask in your light,
Soaking in every, last, atom,
Until night finally falls,
Because there is nothing
I would not do

To keep loving you.