I love you.

Love never ends.

I found that out. When I love, I love forever. Is that not the way it should be? Should we not love and love forever?

Love is the most miserable and wonderful and mysterious of all things I have ever known. It can be the cause of my insomnia, or the reason I rest at ease. It's cheesy, it's totally silly, it really is. It's also the truth. It is the reason for pain, it is the reason for life. Love is - and as a cynic I find it hard to discuss with most people because of the fear of it becoming trivial, sentimental, fake. It is, in fact, personal and very real. Love is, it just is, indescribable.

The best is when it is entirely mutual. You and someone else share a beautiful love that needs no explanation or discussion. You just love, your best friend, your lover, your brother, your sister, your mother, your father, you just love. And you are loved.

I need not say the worst kind of love, the unreturned, and there, I've said it. Where does it come from? How does it happen? How does love end, or never come about?

I still love you, after all this time. And tomorrow, I will love you still. And the day after that and the day after that. Even if for some supernatural and unexplainable reason the sun decides not to shine, even if the sky begins to fall on us both, even if I am the only one, I will still love you. And it's true: in thirty years, I will feel the same. It is no longer a thing that I choose, but rather a truth to my being. I love you.