A Letter to Love

Dear Love,

I really am fond of you; you're the most beautiful thing in the world, next to a million other things.

But I'm getting sick of you.

You've heard this before, of course, in a million stupid poems by weeping, infuriating, cookie-cutter girls around the world who cry out that they're individuals so that they can be like everyone else. Weeping over that cheap imitation of what love really is, sprinkled like so much preschool glitter over foolish teenaged boys and sensationalized pop stars.

You really are a great thing, when you're really there. But so many others try to copy you and fling false love around the world, like 'light' mayonnaise; not as good as the real thing.

Girls who think they have it scream about it like a fire alarm that goes off whenever you open the oven.
Just as annoying.
Just as unnecessary.

You, in your true form, are not stupid.
You are not sappy, sugary-sweet and prepared to cause diabetes.
You just are.

So thanks for that.