Love, To Me.

Love is a curious thing,

A dull ache from somewhere deep within.

Some say it's the luck of the draw,

But a lottery one cannot win.

It stings like a a thorn in your thumb,

Throbs like the blood in your veins

Though sometimes it's warmth is the fire of suns,

It can drench you like a cold winter's rain.

Love is the colour of golden hour

With a hue of dark blue on it's way

An attempt to always remain hopeful

Awaiting heavy clouds of grey.

It can be giving until there's nothing to give

For someone to only take

Love can be the loneliest feeling

Or the most magical thing to create

Love is, to me, a heartbreak

To love is to fade away.