He asked her if she had ever fallen in love and before he knew it, she was telling her story.
He could see the insanity in her eyes.
But she preferred to call it certainty
because she was certain that love existed,
but being in love was a whole different story.
She paused to gather her thoughts,
and searched for an answer somewhere entangled in her brain matter.
The type of love that I fell into, you could think of it as the rabbit hole that started Alice’s adventure to Wonderland. The hole of love that I fell into, however, was not filled with smoking caterpillars and painted roses; there were no chatty flowers or chatty cats. No stressed out rabbits or peculiar tea parties. However though, the few similarities were the tears that turned into an ocean, the mad hatter’s hat that was worn by me, oh and the red hearts.
The type of love I fell into wasn’t a sweet dream; no, it was something much different. I don’t quite know yet how to explain myself any further.
“Oh.” he replied.