Love hurts.
It’s the pain in your sides when he makes you laugh so hard you can’t breathe.
It’s the giggles that escape when you’re fumbling in the dark,
When a head hits the headboard or the knee a sideboard.
It’s talking excitedly with your hands and taking an impromptu smack in the face.
Love hurts.
It’s the scratches he leaves on your skin, the way you bite your lip when he looks at you across the room.
It’s the sudden pain when you walk into a door jam because you were distracted,
The small wound to your pride when he laughs,
And then soothes it with a kiss.
Love hurts.
It’s the ache in your chest when he smiles, when he calls you a dork and you stick out your tongue.
It’s the butterflies in your stomach that feel more like helicopters when he kisses you.
Love hurts.
It’s the pain in your cheeks from smiling so much, even if the joke was stupid.
From squealing so loud.
It’s the pain when you hit the wall or the door or the floor because surprising him when he comes home was a brilliant decision.
It’s the pain that doesn’t hurt. Not really.
Love hurts, but it’s more of an ache. A blooming warmth in your chest that spreads outward. A heat that consumes you, a passion, a joy, that hurts to be suppressed.
It’s the ache in your eyes because for the first time life is vibrant. Everything is beautiful. Everything is colorful. Everything is bright.
So yes.
Love hurts.
But not really.