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Love is odd. It comes out of nowhere, and there is no logic to it. It isn't methodical. It isn't scientific. It's genuine emotion and love. And feeling and love can be dangerous because they gas love...and hate. I'm now a reluctant connoisseur of both - a specialist through immersion. I understand them intimately. When I fell deeply in love with Miranda, it was swift and blind. She was the individual I'd increased to mythical position in my brain, in my own dreams. Here's finished . about dreams:They're smoke. They're spun as thoughts until they become something we think we want. Something we think we need. That was Miranda. She was smoke cigarettes. I thought I wanted her. I thought I needed her. As time passes, fact crept in and little by little dissected and disemboweled my dreams such as a predator, abandoning a rotting carcass. Fact can be a brutal bitch. So can Miranda. And I can be a fool...who believes in dreams. And folks. And love.
