Любовь

Love here is not about cards with hearts, but about carrying a drunk person over your shoulder and then silently setting breakfast on the table. It is loud like a beat and quiet like the morning after a quarrel. It hits your temples like morphine, then invigorates you like coffee without sugar. Sometimes it seems like it's just a habit or personal interest, but in the end, it's what pulls you out of your darkest thoughts. A little dangerous, not at all convenient, but still the only reason to keep going.