Love is grand
OK, so my previous statements about falling in love may have been wrong.
Love is actually pretty nice.
It’s like sucking on helium and drinking Champagne and walking on sunshine all rolled into one. I know it’s just endorphins. I know it’s biology trying to kick me into procreativity. I know this and yet …
… it’s bliss.
I feel great. I feel loved. I feel loving. I feel full of a big, warm, mushy feeling that is remarkably similar to buttery mashed potato. I smile for no reason and I wonder if this makes me look more mentally ill than usual.
I think that I may have been getting sex magic (to be defined as the irritating and involuntary attachment that forms after shagging) mixed up with real love. It’s like comparing West Coast Cooler with Veuve Clicquot.
Love is excellent.
I understand if this is making you vomit in your mouth. I just did and yet …
… to be continued.