But what did that really mean? I always thought I knew. I always thought I understood. But love is more than this feeling of needing you, of wanting you. And I never really grasped the gravity of such a word, until I met you.
Love is more than words; more than "I miss you" at 3 AM, when the emptiness of my bed sinks deep into my dreams. Love is more than "I want you" when the fire in your eyes, and the words from your lips, runs it's torturous route through my veins. Love is more than the burning need of your hands roaming across my nakedness; more than the sounds that escape my mouth, as your fingertips tenderly caress my aching flesh. Love is more than the overwhelming feeling of you in me; more than the sweet, violent rhythm; more than the intoxicating mixture of primal pleasure and raw pain as waves and waves of unmitigated, unadulterated carnal urges build, like a cacophonous symphony, towards the apex of desire: the delicious, unlawful, staggering taste of release.
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