Love is like a garden, like a flower, like a tree... or so poets say. It starts like that, but me, it is love, when it becomes this huge forest, that started with a seed, grew a tree, that tree fell down. I abandoned it in delusions and sadness. Questions hunted me, hopes, and those memories that never were. After contemplating the way back, I stared at the floor for a bit. When I turned back, there was no tree.

Instead, there were many small plants. And they started to grow, and slowly it became a forest. Stronger, deeper, magical. It's my home. Love is not love... until it has multiplied. Until no matter how many trees are cut down, there will always be seeds, there will always be new ones, there will always be one standing. Always, unconditionally, it keeps on going. Unless you decided to cut them all and trow them into the sea, with seeds and all. It won't stop growing, it won't stop regrowing. It goes on, that, is love.

she writes