“And if it doesn’t work out?” She asked. “If we stop feeling something, does it mean we’re dead? Sorry, I don’t know if I can take that chance.”
My girl is afraid and if there’s anything we’ve done to ourselves in modern America, it’s cocoon ourselves in fear.
Who wants buttoned-up, hands-folded-in-your-lap kind of love? I prefer shoot-me-out-of-a-cannon, eat-you-for-lunch kind of love. I’ll take the delirium and the euphoria, the bedlam along with the soul-shattering bliss. Maybe it’s a fantasy and maybe I’m a fool. But I’d rather have one day of real feeling than a lifetime of dull.