The reminder of love doesn’t have to be great at all times

Love is a distant memory that I don’t like to stopover because I can never remember every detail of it, just like a dream in which I merely revisit the feeling inside my chest. It is so strong that it knocks the wind out of my lungs and I can’t breath for a moment. As if that love was so truthful and mighty that my past, present and future self have to lend its entire being to the reminder of its occurrence or else I might collapse into one blissfully sweet heartbreak. Everything embedded in silk and sorrow, comfort and contempt and of course warmth paired with never ending wickedly distasteful wistfulness.