You know you have a love problem when you're scetching in your book, drawing someone you really like but can only be with in your dreams...then, it's like your body is working but your brain is sitting watching, going; "What the fuck are you up to?". You find yourself leaning forward, almost touching the paper with your lips, but just before you feel its grainy texture, your brain kicks in and instead of kissing it, you just put your forehead on the page and cry into the early hours of the morning. The entire day passes, and you think nothing of it, but you know, deep inside, that you will be doing the same thing tonight.
But it gives one hope. Love is alive. I love love.