The people I've loved most, I've usually wanted to push them off a cliff.
The ones who rouse my murderous id - they're the ones who get properly under a skin, electrically wired down to my fingerend nerve endings, pulsing into the emotional heartbeat to a life.
They're the voice in the head and the drum beat telling me daybreak is here.
With them I laugh more than anyone else in the world; I listen to them, argue with them, tell them to shut up for a blasted minute while I'll defend their nonsense, their bizarre behaviour and their right to be bonkers, down to my last breath.
I'll restore them, rebel against them, and turn my red blood into revenge for them.
It's contradictory, love, and on my Valentine's Day, unicorns don't appear. Neither do fairies, lovehearts, cute fluffy things with big eyes, and all the rest of the diamond sparkle spinning in the star-lit skies blah blah blah.
Love. In my world it's blood, guts, viscera. This had to be.
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