Quintessential. 

Poetry.

The quintessential question is not how we fall in love; But why we fall in love.

Souls that dance with one another, 

Only to wither away at the end of the song. 

Why would we subject ourselves to the mortality of love? 

Lest we not forget,

The casualties of this war! 

For it is a war; a soldier’s coup of the heart,

Fall-in-love-as-we-fall-apart. 

Ring a ring a Rosie’s, 

Pocket full of shrapnel and decay!

I chose to fall in love today.

And the quintessential question is not why we fall in love; 

But who we fall in love with. 

Cold hands meet and numb lips embrace, 

The ensuring seizures of bliss. 

Ah. 

But who? Who indeed- 

Tall, dark and handsome, 

No! 

My lover is much simpler than that,

With frowning laugh lines and a weakly back. 

I fell in love with him for his flaws;

For if its perfect it’s not real at all. 

But the quintessential question is not who we fall in love with; 

But what we fall in love for. 

Diamonds and enchantments?  

Love-of-life-enhancements? 

We fall in love for the sake of our sanity, 

As without the oxytocin of love- 

We are but breaths of stale air. 

I fall in love to remain, 

For the only way to be remembered, is to cause the greatest of pain.

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