Work Text:
Movies make love look romantic. There was nothing wrong with that, romance. It was just inaccurate. Love was hard, painful and absolutely terrifying. To be so enamored with someone that their very breath caused your heart to quake, your teeth to numb, that one touch could soothe your shade to the point of utter content.
Being in love is like living underwater, the absence of sound and light save for the voice of your affection, save for the light of their eyes. Every movement of theirs a current felt on the cold, gooseflesh of your body. Heat can only come from them, the tide from them, air only from their own lungs. They own you completely, they hold you in the palm of their hand and your heart, your whole being insists that you let them. That you trust them.
The most terrifying part is that you are to believe that they feel the same. Your heart insists that they too are caught in the dead sea, in this gravity defying epsom salt bath that leaves you weightless, that leaves you moorless. That they too can't help but make you the center of their own selves.
"-but that's not me, and it definitely isn't you."
Your heart is selfish. It doesn't want to be alone in the ether. So it lies.